Trouble
by DETERMINATION001
Summary: Frisk, a homeless, 16-year-old runaway girl stumbles upon an open door on a cold day in Snowdin City, she is thrusted into a world of violence, kind souls(?), and demonic gang leaders. Mildly inspired by "But Its Better If You Do" by Hattersglasschild. (Undertale AU, eventual SansxFrisk)
1. The Open Room

**Hey there, this is DETERMINATION001 here with the first chapter of Trouble. (Terrible name, I know. It sounds like a Taylor Swift song, but, hopefully the story is better than the title.) Yes, I posted this story is on Wattpad. Don't be surprised, or think that I stole, because I didn't. Please enjoy and please, please review. (reviews make me happy, very, very happy)**

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By the third day Frisk spent out in the open, she had decided that the cold was the worst thing in the universe. In spite of weeks of preparation, weeks of gathering as much money as she could manage, weeks of dreaming of the moment of her departure from home, _nothing_ could have prepared her for the cold. She wandered through the streets of Snowdin, her breath dense, white fog in front of her, and her face numb. It felt as though her very joints were about to freeze into little ice cubes if she didn't find a warm place to sleep soon. She tugged at the thin, purple sweater she was wearing and desperately wished for something warmer. Wished for money too, as what little she had was running out fast.

Frisk dug her hand into her pants pocket and felt the single, crumpled bill that lay within. She pulled it out and stared at the number on the piece of paper. Five. Five dollars, and she'd started out with fifty. Where had the money gone? Only a little while ago, she seemed to have amassed a small fortune from what she could inconspicuously steal, beg, borrow, and barter, but now? Now she had enough money for a cheeseburger, and that was about it. She stuffed the bill back into her pocket and kept walking to stave off chills.

Snowdin wasn't a huge city, but it was huge enough by Frisk's standards. The bus ticket there had costed her a whopping thirty dollars, which accounted for where most of her money went. Now she only had five dollars left. No way back. Not that she would have taken it had it been offered, but nonetheless, the weight of the unknown settled heavily upon her. A sudden shock of determination filled her. No, she _would not_ go back home, she _would_ buy a cheeseburger, and she _would_ survive. No matter what lengths she had to go to, she was _determined_ to stay alive.

Frisk set off with newfound rigor, her eyes scanning the various shops of downtown Snowdin for a burger joint. Finally, she came to a stop at a semi-reputable looking place with the name, emblazoned in gold upon a scratched, black, weather-beaten sign: GRILLBY'S. Looked decent enough. She pushed open the door and was immediately startled by the gust of warm air that followed. The place smelled like grease, alcohol, ketchup, and fries, and every last bit of her body screamed _HELL YES, BRING ON THE BURGERS AND THE WARMTH!_ But another part of her recognized the smell of the place. It wasn't just ordinary fast food grease. This was _high end_ burger grease. Or at least, diner burger grease. Just one of these things could potentially cost her at least ten dollars, which, while it would probably be the best thing she had ever eaten, it was still way over her budget.

Still, the idea of going back out there into the cold, harsh city to look for another place to eat wasn't appealing in the slightest. It wouldn't hurt to check the prices before she went, would it? Frisk walked slowly up to the bar, where a tall, red haired, bespectacled man in a white button up shirt, black vest, and bow tie was absently polishing a shot glass with a rag.

"Uh, excuse me?" she said, waving a little to get his attention. The red headed man stopped polishing the glass and looked down at her inquisitively. She cleared her throat. "I was wondering if you had anything here that costs less than five dollars? Or, erm, right at five dollars? That's kinda as high as I can go."

The man stared at her for a little while, his expression unreadable, until another customer called out, "Yo! Grillby! Can you top me off, pal? I'm runnin' a little low."

The man, who she assumed to be Grillby, turned to the other customer and said, "Coming, Sir." He went back to Frisk. "I'll attend to you shortly, Miss." Then he bustled off to a room in the back.

Frisk waited patiently, and a little nervously. The heating was nice though, and she certainly wasn't going to complain. Grillby emerged from the back room with a glass bottle marked, "special," and poured the ailing customer a generous dollop. More customers called for Grillby's attention, and he attended to each of their needs dutifully and immediately, leaving Frisk quite unattended. She watched him bustle about his business for a while, and was beginning to think he had forgotten about her when suddenly, he emerged from his mysterious back room carrying a heaping plate containing a burger of epic proportions and a generous helping of fries. He set the plate in front of her and was about to bustle off to another errand when she stopped him.

"Wait! I can't afford all this. I don't have much money-"

"It's on the house. Eat. You look hungry," Grillby said quietly before he once more disappeared into the back room. She stared after him in amazement for a moment, then smiled and set to work on her food. The burger's meat was tender and juicy while the fries were wondrously crisp and salty and she gorged herself shamelessly on the treasure-trove of flavor. At one point she had come up for air long enough to realize Grillby had set a glass of some dark liquid, which turned out to be soda pop, in front of her. She seized the glass and took several large gulps from it, then returned to her food.

Frisk left GRILLBY'S stuffed, warm, and immensely tired. The shock of cold upon leaving the warm, safe, haven had been enough to remind her of her situation, but not really enough to be aware of it. Things were hopeful now. She had met a kind person here who had fed her. She still had five dollars. She was actually sort of _comfortable_. She wandered on, glancing around the street for a halfway decent place to sleep, but everywhere she saw was taken up with some hobo or another.

She felt the warmth she held on the inside from Grillby's ebb away. She wrapped the thin, purple sweater around her even tighter, desperately clinging to that warmth. If it left her... she honestly thought she would cry. What she really wanted to do was go back to GRILLBY'S and stay there, but all she did was keep walking. Eventually she came up to a relatively good looking spot that was not already taken up by a hobo. It was a small space between two buildings, barely enough space for her to squeeze in, but that meant it would be warmer than most other places once she got the snow out.

She was just about to get to work when she noticed something. A soft purple glow illuminated her peripheral vision. Frisk glanced over to see the source, and saw heaven in the form of an open door. She tried to disregard it in favor of cleaning out her new bed of snow, but... She glanced back. If she concentrated, she could feel the warmth emanating from the room, which appeared to be some sort of bedroom lit with garish purple and blue lights. She felt herself drawn to the room by some sort of irresistible force, and, though she knew it was wrong, she was already considering just going in and taking a nap.

It wouldn't be hard to sneak in, and besides, the person who left the door open might not even come back to the room in a while. She already had a half formed plan to hide under the bed and leave before the person who owned the room woke up in the morning. It just sounded too tempting to pass up. Maybe the person wouldn't even notice her... maybe she could just stay for the night... She already had her foot on the doorway, and she smelled the heavy scent of perfume and... something else in the air. It wasn't quite as tempting as GRILLBY'S had been, but the thought of a warm place to stay was enough temptation for a girl who had spent two brutally cold nights out in the streets of Snowdin.

That was it. She was sleeping here, consequences be damned. She stepped fully into the room, desperately wanting to close the door behind her to fully immerse herself in the warmth, but she didn't. The only way she could get away with this was to go completely unnoticed, and closing the door would be like putting up a sign that said "HEY, I'M A CRAZY, WEIRD LADY WHO SNUCK INTO YOUR ROOM IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT." No, she would not close the door.

She walked to the bed, too tired to think of anything else, crawled under it, and was asleep within seconds.

* * *

Frisk was woken by the feeling of her arm being ripped out of it's socket. She screamed, thrashing about as she was given the abrupt sensation of being yanked through the air and dangled, by her arm no less, feet off the ground.

"Honestly, darling," said a sweet, deep, male voice. "If anyone should be screaming here, it ought to be me. Now, would you mind telling me what you were doing under my bed, sweetheart?"

"I'm so sorry!" she screamed. He dropped her and her feet slammed back into the ground, forcing her to fall down completely. Frisk looked up at her "host" with watery, fearful eyes, and was surprised to find that he was absolutely beautiful.

He was tall, almost unnaturally so, with tawny, beige skin and the most startlingly black hair she had ever seen. His lips were full, and his one visible eye (the other was covered by his hair) was a shock of deep purple. His face was regal, with an aquiline nose and arched, sharp eyebrows. He was the sort of man every woman in the world would want... but if his silvery, sequin dress and fuchsia heels were anything to go by, it wasn't women he wanted looking at him.

She must have looked like a dying fish for her wide eyes and gaping mouth, and to her surprise, he looked almost as shocked to see her as she was to see him. He didn't look nearly so threatening as he had sounded only a moment earlier.

"Aren't you just the most darling thing!" the man squealed, picking Frisk up and wrapping his arms around her in a bear hug that knocked all the wind out of her. She made a weak attempt to pry his arms off her. He abruptly pushed her back and held her at an arm's length, his eyes running her up and down. "You're so cute! What's your name, precious? Are you lost? Do you need a place to stay? How old are you anyway? Oh, it doesn't matter, come here, darling!" He pulled her in for another bone crushing hug, which she resisted.

"Let me go, please! I can't breathe!" she wheezed from his arms. At last, he seemed to notice her distress.

"Oh, sorry, precious. I get a little, how do you say... overexcited sometimes," said the man. "Oh! Where are my manners? I am Mettaton, by the way. What's your name, precious?"

"Um, my name is Frisk. I'm sorry for intruding-"

"Oh, it's no worry, precious. You must have been frozen to death out there! Look at you, you're all wet and everything. Here, let me fetch you a change of clothes. The shower's in there, so just make yourself at home!" With that, Mettaton immediately shoved her off to the bathroom and started rummaging through his drawers for clothes. Frisk was confused.

"Sorry, sir?"

"Just call me Mettaton, precious."

"Mettaton, what- I mean- why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?"

"Because you're cute. And I just ADORE sweet little things like you. Really, I'm doing this for entirely selfish reasons," Mettaton answered. "I'll have your clothes to you in just a moment... just let me find something that might fit you. Go ahead and take a shower, precious! They'll be waiting on the toilet for you when you get out."

Frisk knew she should be suspicious, but at the moment, she didn't really care. That was two people in one day who had been kind to her, and she wasn't about to argue if it meant she could spend the night some place warm. She went into the bathroom and closed the door.

The shower was heavenly- though she was embarrassed to find out just how filthy three days in the street had made her- and, just as Mettaton said, when she got out there were fresh pajamas and even a towel for her to dry off with. She put on the pajamas to discover them wonderfully soft and comfortable, if a little well perfumed. She exited the bathroom and found Mettaton waiting for her, now dressed in pajamas similar to her own. She wondered briefly how Mettaton had found any clothes in her size, he being over a foot taller than her and at least twice her weight.

"Oh, you're just adorable! Just like a little girl!" He hugged her again, more gently than before, and, to her surprise, she hugged him back. "How old are you again, precious? I don't think I caught that before."

"I'm 18," she lied. In truth, she was really about 16.

"Oh?" He looked her up and down. "You look a little younger than that, precious."

She frowned. "I'm 18," she reasserted.

"I wasn't doubting you, precious! You don't have to get so defensive. Did your parents just kick you out? Don't worry, I was in just the same boat at your age. As a matter of fact, I think I was 17 when my parents kicked me out. I'll tell you though, I don't regret it a second of my life, you know that? Never went back either. Oh! There I go again, talking about myself when I haven't even heard your story yet. I'm sure yours is far more interesting than mine. Go ahead, you can tell me anything." Mettaton sat down on the bed and patted the spot next to him. She sat.

"Well," she said. "Where should I start?"

"Anywhere you want to, precious."

"Hmm... Well, I don't actually live here for a start- well, I guess I do now, but that's beside the point. I actually come from a little town about 300 miles from here, Dapry."

"Really?"

"Um, yeah. Actually, I lived with my boyfriend until a little while ago," she said. That part was a lie. "He was pretty mean though. He hit me all the time, and was actually a lot older than me, so he drank a lot. I kept staying there because I thought things would get better, and, well, they didn't." That part wasn't. "Finally, I just decided I couldn't take it anymore, so I stole fifty dollars and took a bus ticket to Snowdin." It wasn't completely the truth, but honestly, she didn't think she could get any better. Mettaton looked at her with concerned eyes, and suddenly, she felt very vulnerable.

"You, don't have to worry about that anymore. Just put it all behind you, precious." He wrapped an arm around her, and her heart melted. They stayed like that for a little while, then at last Mettaton said, "We should probably get to bed now."

"Um," she said, suddenly nervous. "Where am I sleeping?"

"Right now, you're sleeping with me, precious. I wasn't exactly expecting you, so I'll have to make arrangements later."

"You'd do that for me?"

"Of course! Now, just lay back and rest your sleepy little head- that's it- just rest."

Frisk rested her head on the pillow as Mettaton pulled fuchsia covers up to her neck, then crawled in after her. It was bliss, and, though she was a little uncomfortable about sleeping next to a man, it was safe. He put an arm around her waist and snuggled her close, and after a little while, when she was almost asleep, she heard him whisper.

"Oh, precious. Don't think this is coming for free..."

Then she drifted off into oblivion.


	2. Sans

**Yo, second chapter, up.**

Sans woke up exactly three hours after he had fallen asleep with 3 things on his mind: _What is the true meaning of life, where are my socks_ , and _why am I covered in noodles_? He opened one bleary eye and became slowly aware of muffled, satisfied yelling in the opposite room.

"I BET YOU DIDN'T THINK I WOULD FOLLOW THROUGH WITH MY THREAT TO POUR SPAGHETTI ON YOU IF YOU DIDN'T GET UP, DID YOU? WELL, NEVER UNDERESTIMATE THE GREAT PAPYRUS, OR YOU WILL- wait- SANS! ARE YOU STILL SLEEPING?!"

"Mmm," Sans groaned.

"SANS! GET UP! WE'RE GOING TO BE LATE FOR OUR SHIFT!"

"Mmm," he groaned again, closing his eye. Two hands fastened themselves under his armpits and hoisted him up in the air.

"HRMPH... SANS, YOU'RE GETTING UP AND GOING TO WORK IF I HAVE TO CARRY YOU!"

"I'm okay with that," San's mumbled, still not opening his eyes.

"SANS!"

"Alright, alright. I'm awake. Can you put me down, Papyrus? It's a little early for me to be high, if you know what I mean."

"UGH, SANS, THAT WAS GROSSLY INAPPROPRIATE. AND YOU'RE GETTING HEAVY; YOU OUGHT TO EAT HEALTHIER AND EXERCISE MORE SO YOU CAN BE MORE LIKE ME, THE GREAT PAPYRUS!"

Sans's feet met the ground, soon going into a pair of comfortable pink slippers. "Aw, c'mon, bro. You know I do at least ten sit-ups most mornings. It might not sound like much, but hey, there's only so many times I can hit the snooze button." He snickered a bit at his own joke. Papyrus was less than amused.

"UGH, JUST TAKE A SHOWER AND GET READY FOR WORK AND DON'T BE SUCH A LAZY-BONES! I'LL BE WAITING DOWNSTAIRS."

Sans waved as cheerily as his sleep deprived body would allow him, said, "Okay," and flopped straight back on the bed. He groaned and wished vainly that sleep would find him again. When it didn't, he silently cursed and sat back up, rubbing his head and picking some of the stray spaghetti noodles out of his hair. He ate one. It was less crunchy than usual. Not bad.

Sans got himself off the bed and shuffled slowly to the bathroom where he stripped, turned on the shower, stepped into the lukewarm spray, and started his "morning" routine. It was actually more like 10:00 at night.

Sans C. Gaster worked 2 full-time jobs. One was selling his own special brand of hot dogs, and the other was working as a security guard at one of the many strip clubs Snowdin City had to offer. His brother, Papyrus, worked with him on the security gig and didn't know about the hot dog stand. Truth be told, Sans didn't _want_ Papyrus to know about the hot dog stand. If Pap knew, Sans had no doubt that he would take on at _least_ two more jobs to make up the slack. Man, his brother was cool.

Sans picked up a bar of soap and started scrubbing away the hot dog grease and sweat and cigarette smoke from the day and night before. He made a mental note to take the day off from his hot dog stand. (It might have made good money, but it was too damn cold for hot dogs anyway.) He ran the bar of soap over the jagged, diagonal scar on his chest. Papyrus had a matching one on his neck. How long ago had that happened anyway? Two years ago? Three? It still brought Sans a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach every time he saw it, but hey, it couldn't be helped, could it?

He squirted a generous amount of shampoo in his hand and rubbed it in his hair. A few noodles fell out. After he was sufficiently scrubbed and smelling decent, he went back to his room and stared morosely at the suit he had to wear for work. What wouldn't he give to just wear his hoodie and jogging shorts for the day? He began to dress in a quick, practiced manner. Shirt first, then pants, then tie...

"SANS!" he heard.

"Yeah, bro?" he yelled back tiredly.

"GET A MOVE ON! METTATON'S EXPECTING US THERE IN TWENTY MINUTES!" Papyrus's head popped through the open door. "YOU AREN'T EVEN DRESSED YET? COME ON, YOU WON'T EVEN HAVE TIME FOR BREAKFAST AT THIS RATE!"

"S'okay. I can just pick something up from Grillby's-"

"YOU KNOW I HATE THAT PLACE! WHY DON'T YOU EVER WAKE UP EARLY ENOUGH TO HAVE SOME OF MY DELICIOUS, NUTRITIOUS, BREAKFAST SPAGHETTI?"

"I dunno- say, could you hand that jacket to me?"

Papyrus tossed Sans a dark blue blazer.

"Thanks."

"NOW, LET'S GO! WE DON'T WANT TO BE LATE!"

"Yeah, sure." Sans took a cursory glance at himself in the mirror. Even with the suit, he looked terrible. His reflection stared back at him with bags under the eyes, a stubbled chin, and messy, pale hair. He grinned, hoping to alter the reflection to something at least slightly more appealing. The skin on his reflection's face stretched in a garish parody of a smile. _Ugh_.

Sans walked away from the mirror and rummaged through his sock drawer until he found what he was looking for- a small pistol- checked that the safety was still on, and stuck the gun in the waistband of his pants.

"GET GOING ALREADY!"

"I'm coming! Yeesh, Paps, keep your pants on."

"MY PANTS REMAIN SECURELY FASTENED AROUND MY HIPS! NOW GET DOWN HERE! WE SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE 2 MINUTES AGO!"

"I'm already down here bro," said Sans right next to his brother.

"oh, WELL QUIT DAWDLING THEN!" Papyrus started to walk out of the house.

"Bro?"

"YES?"

"It's Snowdin, Bro. You're going to want a coat."

"oh, YES! I WILL! THANK YOU, BROTHER!"

It was freezing outside. Even with a hat, Sans's wet hair would probably be nothing more than icicles by the time they got to work. Papyrus was already far ahead of him- hell, he was practically _sprinting_ to work. How Papyrus had managed to keep the stamina of a 5-year-old was beyond Sans.

BAM! "OUCH!"

How Papyrus managed to keep the lack of wisdom of a 5-year-old to not run on ice was also beyond Sans.

"Uh, you okay?"

"I'M FINE! BE SURE TO WALK AROUND THIS AREA, SANS! IT IS LUCKY THAT I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, FOUND THIS SLIPPERY SPOT BEFORE YOU, OR YOU WOULD BE IN REAL TROUBLE!" Papyrus got up, brushed himself off, and continued walking. They passed building after building, including GRILLBY'S (Papyrus just about threw a fit when Sans tried to go in and grab something to eat) until they came to a two story building with a neon sign that read HOTLANDS. There was already a small crowd hovering outside.

Papyrus pushed through the crowd with ease, though some of the soon- to- be- guests were a little less than happy. Sans followed close behind, silently noting the advantages of having a giant for a brother. They got inside and found Mettaton waiting for them. He did _not_ look happy.

"Where have you two been?" he asked, his voice filled with unconcealed menace.

"SORRY, METTATON! WE JUST-"

"I don't want to hear it! It's two minutes until showtime and you're both on inside duty today."

Inside duty? Sans groaned. As if today could get any worse.

"Don't you dare start with me, Sans! You're taking inside duty, and you're going to like it or I swear I'll fire your ass and get someone who isn't useless. Have I made myself clear?"

"No," said Sans. "I still can't see through you, sorry."

Papyrus looked like he wanted to shrink down into the carpet and die. Mettaton just groaned.

"Just do your job."

"Can do, boss," said Sans, giving a two fingered salute. Mettaton stalked off. Papyrus glared at Sans, but said nothing. The two brothers each went the their posts on the other side of another set of double doors, taking the spots right next to the door that gave them full view of the club. Customers started swarming in soon after.

Mettaton trotted up on stage, gave a short speech (for Mettaton, that is. That man _loved_ to hear himself talk,) and at last let the dancers come out. Some of the patrons hooted. All of the girls were wearing practically nothing, and Sans knew that they would be wearing even less by the end of the show. By the time the music started, he had already completely zoned out.

It wasn't that he didn't find the girls attractive, it was just that he didn't care much for the idea of them strutting _all_ their assets out in front of everyone. He couldn't help but imagine if he were made to do the same thing. The mental image of himself in high heels and a thong passed into his mind and he shuddered. Then he looked at one of the dancers, who was wearing devilish looking heels and a black thong. How did she even walk in those? How was she not constantly yanking at her backside to get rid of the permanent wedgie?

He hated inside duty, and Mettaton knew he hated it. Inside duty was to him as Mondays were to Garfield. Inevitable, but hated. It wasn't only the mental torture of trying to figure out how the dancers dealt with wedgies. If that was the only reason inside duty was terrible, he would be able to put up with it. Sans shifted uncomfortably and adjusted his tie. It was too damn hot in there. Part of him wondered why Mettaton didn't turn on the AC-or hell, even just open the door and let some air in! Another part of him said, "Hello? HOTlands."

Even the heat was _not_ the reason Sans hated inside duty. There was a bar located in the far left of the club, and by the end of his shift, _every single asshole_ in the entire club would be wasted. It was just too much hard work to babysit a drunk, which is what he had to do if he had inside duty.

Sans took one look at the hated bar- thinking that maybe he could go there for some ketchup in an hour or two as compensation for his suffering- when his heart _stopped_.

It was her.

It was HER. The same _her_ that gave him his scar. The same her that had killed Undyne and Toriel and Napstablook and nearly everyone he loved. The same her who had almost killed Papyrus. The first thought he had was "HOW?" How was she here?! It didn't make any sense! He shot her in the head at least 10 times all those years ago! The pistol in the waistband of his pants suddenly felt heavy, reminding him of its presence. He would shoot her another ten times right here, right now. He had vermin to kill.

"Hey, Papyrus?" he said, his voice deathly calm.

"WHAT IS IT, BROTHER?"

"I'm gonna get a bottle of ketchup from the bar. Do you want anything?"

Papyrus looked at him strangely. "THIS EARLY? WE HAVEN'T BEEN HERE TEN MINUTES-"

"I know," Sans interrupted. "I just really need some right now. Can you keep an eye on things?"

"OF COURSE I CAN! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, CAN DO ANYTHING!"

"Thanks." Sans set a fast pace for the bar. He wasn't noticed. Being short had its advantages in getting through crowds too. He could go almost as fast as he was able, and no one would ever notice him. _She_ , the _girl_ , that little _demon_ had her back to him. He could make it quick. Just shoot her in the back of the head and she wouldn't even have time to fight back. No problem, right?

He reached casually for his pistol. It was no Gaster-Blaster, but it would do. Sans sat at the bar. Then he got an idea.

"Hey, kid," he said in his deepest, most terrifying voice. The girl froze. Sans smiled. "Don't you know how to greet a pal? Turn around and shake my hand."

She turned, and just as he was about to take out his gun and shoot her in her smug, murderous little face, he realized something. She did not look like _her_. Well, she did, they could have been twins if Sans didn't know better, but at the same time this girl did _not_ look like _her_. This girl looked innocent, and (dare he think it?) cute. She was tiny, even shorter than Sans, with an itsey-bitsey skirt and a purple bow in her hair.

If he wasn't seeing her in a _strip club_ , he would say there was no way she was over 14-years-old. It was disarming. Sans's right hand, which had been reaching for a pistol, instead reached for a wallet. His left hand was held out for the innocent girl to shake. She took his hand.

"I'll take a bottle of ketchup, kid."

 **Please review :)**


	3. A New Home

**Hello, DETERMINATION001 here. Thank you to anyone reading this, and please review!**

* * *

Frisk walked home from her first day working at the Hotlands and reflected on all that had gotten her there. Altogether, she had been pretty fortunate. Had she come up against anyone but Mettaton the night before, she was certain she would have been thrown out and then froze to death on the street. Or worse, the guy could have called the cops or even kept her prisoner himself. She should be grateful... but she wasn't.

Frisk had never been so embarrassed in her _life_. Who would have guessed that Mettaton owned a strip club? Who would have guessed that Mettaton was a huge pervert? Who would have guessed that Mettaton would make her wear something so ridiculously revealing?! The worst part about it was she didn't have any other clothes to cover up with on her way to her new apartment, so it was insanely cold on her way there. Mini-skirts were just _not_ the clothes to be wearing on a snowy day.

She supposed it could have been worse. She could have been forced to become a stripper herself for heaven's sake! The very idea brought a sick feeling to the pit of her stomach that she chose to ignore. Mettaton was a kind person who just needed some help with his business. It made sense that he wouldn't take her in for free. She had even been given one of the more savory jobs in the place, after all! Not to mention room, board, and even a huge wad of cash to buy some clothes with! She ought to be happy. But, she wasn't.

Frisk shivered and glanced at the map Mettaton had given her. There was a location circled with a name written beside it in bright red ink. If her spacial reasoning was on the dot, it would only take 5 more minutes at most to make it to her apartment. It felt unreal to have her own apartment. Even more unreal to have never seen it before.

 _"I'm so sorry I don't have time to show you to your place, precious,"_ Mettaton had said. _"I've got some things I need to do, but if you need anything, just call me."_ He handed her a phone. " _Everything should be all set up for the month, but you're going to want some new clothes, so-here- I'll be expecting you to have a full set by tomorrow. That's enough cash to buy out TJ Maxx! (Incidentally, don't shop there, darling. There's nothing good there.) I'll see you tomorrow, precious! Be careful!_ "

It had been almost comical how much Mettaton had sounded like a concerned parent right after he had just made her serve at a _bar_ in a _strip club_. It was just so...messed up. Not the most messed up thing that had ever happened to her, but still messed up. Frisk shivered again. It felt like she'd just gone out into a blizzard wearing only underwear. Not too much further until she reached her apartment. Her _fully paid for_ apartment, she reminded herself. Frisk tried to take her mind off her numbing legs and instead went to the events of the night.

Once she had gotten past the mortification of the mini skirt and shirt with the too-low neckline, she was introduced to the crew of The Hotlands. She had been introduced to some of the dancers and even a surly young man, (the former bar-keep) named Burgerpants. (It had taken Frisk a serious amount of self-control not to laugh outright at the young man's ridiculous name.) None of the crew was very friendly with her, with the possible exception of the one security guard/bouncer she had been introduced to. That one's name had been Aaron. She vaguely remembered Mettaton saying something about two other security-guards who he wanted her to meet, but couldn't remember much else about that.

The shift had been uneventful for the most part. Lots of fetching drinks, lots of dealing with nasty, strange looks from strange men, lots of ignoring perverse comments, lots of memory work- but that was to be expected. She had tried to smile and keep her cool through the night, but she didn't know how well she'd done. At one point, she was almost certain she had let her true feelings show when a short, blue eyed, pale haired, absolutely terrifying man in a suit had talked to her. He asked to shake her hand, and afterward, he had been much more friendly and much less terrifying. The man disturbed her, somehow. Yet, at the same time, she also thought him entertainingly strange. They guy had ordered ketchup. Nothing else. Just a bottle of ketchup.

She came to a large, three story building and nearly walked past it when she realized that it must be hers. Or at least, part of it was hers. She walked over to a faded yellow sign on the building's side and read the name. Sno-Ril Apartments. She looked at the piece of paper Mettaton had given her. It, too, said Sno-Ril Apartments.

Frisk wasted no time. She took a brief glance down at the map to figure out what apartment number she was, then walked as fast as her frozen, mostly bare legs could carry her up the first set of stairs. It took her less than ten seconds to find her apartment number (A-15). She hurriedly checked the door, found it unlocked, and threw herself inside. If her stay in Snowdin had taught her anything, it was that (if there was a hell,) it was not covered in fire, but ice.

Frisk revelled in the warmth- not even bothering to look for a chair- just sliding to the floor right outside her door and hugging her knees to her chest. She tried to rub some life back into her legs with her hands. Warmth flooded into her from everywhere, and all she could think was, _This is bliss._

The apartment was small with filthy looking carpet and dim lighting. There was a kitchen that opened up to the living room, and a short hall that split off into two rooms: a bathroom the size of a postage stamp and a bedroom containing a surprisingly generous, queen-sized bed. On the bed was a dark tee shirt, a pair of sweatpants, and a note. She picked up the note first. All it said was, _Have Fun!_ with a badly drawn cartoon of Mettaton at the bottom. She smiled. Mettaton was a pretty good guy after all, even if he was a little... weird. She slipped on the new clothes and flopped down on the bed, briefly considering going to sleep right then.

Her stomach growled. Then she remembered just how hungry she really was. Frisk was the only one working on the bar that night, so she the only breaks she got were when the customers were busy doing something besides drinking. She hadn't eaten in over 20 hours. Frisk sat up and made her way to the kitchen where she checked the fridge, cabinets, and drawers. There was no food in any of them (with the exception of a moldy bean she found in one of the cabinets, but that wasn't much.)

She sighed. What should she do? She had some money now- $5,000- thanks to Mettaton. Maybe she should go grocery shopping? It was true that Mettaton had given her the money to buy clothes, but surely he wouldn't mind if she got food with some of the money, would he? Her stomach growled again. No, she shouldn't go grocery shopping, at least not now. It was never a good idea to go shopping when hungry. Still, she needed to eat, so...

An idea came, and she smacked herself in the forehead. How had she not thought of it before? Frisk walked briskly to her bedroom, grabbed $40 from the wad of cash Mettaton had given her, whisked a blanket off the bed to fashion it into a makeshift shawl, and headed out. It was still almost insufferably cold out, but still marginally better with some real clothes on. She walked to Mettaton's place first, and from there she made her way by memory to her destination.

The restaurant loomed over her with its name written in proud, golden letters on a black background. GRILLBY'S. Frisk smiled. It was 5:00 in the morning, and the place was open. She walked in and made a beeline for the bar where a tall, red-haired, bespectacled man was pouring a glass of "something special" to an old man who looked uncannily like a dog. She sat at the bar and waved meekly for Grillby's attention. It took a few seconds, but eventually he did notice her and strode quickly and efficiently to her.

"Um, hi," said Frisk.

"Hello," Grillby replied. "You're the girl from the other night, aren't you?"

"Yeah, that's me. I- um- got a job, so..." she set a $20 bill on the table and slid it toward him. "I figured I should probably pay you back-"

"Don't," Grillby interrupted. "If you want anything else, I'll be over there." Grillby was just about to bustle off to another errand when Frisk stopped him.

"Hey!" she said, embarrassingly loud. He turned back to her. "Um, well, if you don't want to take my money for the other night, will you at least take it for today? I, um, want the same thing, if you don't mind."

He looked at her long and hard with those piercing, soul-searching eyes, then sighed, snatched the bill, and hastened off to the back room. He emerged a few minutes later with the burger, fries, and coke and set them on her table along with $8. She pushed the money back at him.

"It's a tip," she said. Grillby sighed again, but took the money and once more went about his business. Frisk took a bite of the burger. It was tender and juicy and warm and oh-so-good.

Suddenly, she heard a loud BANG! (like that of wood on wood) and turned around. A man strode in, with pale hair and wearing a dark suit and orange tie. The man was _enormous._ She shrunk down, as low as she could muster, away from him as he charged confidently to the bar. No doubt, the man would be a complete asshole, and possibly violent. So many large men were. Frisk tried to make herself invisible.

"PARDON ME!" said the large man, _very_ loudly. "MISTER GRILLBY!? ARE YOU THERE?!"

Grillby emerged from the back room, noticed the enormous man, and came to the bar.

"What is it, Mister Papyrus?" said Grillby in his quiet, formal way.

"MY BROTHER, SANS, SEEMS TO BE FEELING UNDER THE WEATHER. HE HASN'T EATEN ANYTHING ALL NIGHT! HE WOULDN'T EVEN EAT ANY OF MY SPECIAL SPAGHETTI! SO, I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, SAID I WOULD FEED HIM WHATEVER HE WANTED... AAAANNNNNND HE WANTED FRENCH FRIES AND KETCHUP." The huge man looked simultaneously exasperated and embarrassed, as if he was speaking of a friend's bad habit. Grillby raised his eyebrow.

"Sans? Not feeling well? That's unusual."

"YES, IT IS. CAN YOU PLEASE GET ME THE FRIES AND KETCHUP?"

"Of course, Mister Papyrus," said Grillby before bustling off to the back room. Frisk felt incredibly vulnerable without him. She always felt uncomfortable with large men near her. She tried to shrink away and disappear into the bar-stool, then, as if the universe were out to spite her, the enormous man turned his head and looked _directly at her_. Something strange happened then.

A mix of emotions flashed on the man's face in quick succession. First, she saw shock. Then fear. Then relief. Then curiosity. Frisk didn't know what the mix of emotions was about, but she did know what it meant. He was going to talk to her.

"PARDON ME?" said the man. Frisk swallowed, hard.

"U-um... Yes?"

"I APOLOGIZE, YOU JUST LOOK LIKE SOMEBODY I KNOW. SAY, YOU WOULDN'T BE A CRAZY MASS MURDERER, WOULD YOU?" The man leaned uncomfortably close to her.

"Um, no?"

"GOOD! I'M GLAD WE GOT THAT OUT OF THE WAY. YOU SEEM NERVOUS." He waited for her to reply.

"I guess?"

"THERE IS NO NEED TO FEAR! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WOULD NEVER HURT ANYONE! I DON'T LIKE VIOLENCE. I STILL FEEL LIKE I RECOGNIZE YOU FROM SOMEWHERE..." he put a hand to his chin thoughtfully. "I KNOW! YOU WERE THE GIRL AT THE BAR!"

Frisk let out a small laugh. Whoever this man was, he didn't seem to be a threat. "Yes, that's me. Do you... um... work at the Hotlands?"

"YES, I DO!" The man, Papyrus, pulled up a stool next to Frisk. "IT'S NICE TO MEET YOU!" He grabbed her hand and shook it vigorously, making her head bobble around violently.

"Nice to meet you too," she said. "So, um, do you like working at the Hotlands?"

"HMM... I HONESTLY NEVER REALLY THOUGHT ABOUT IT! BEING A SECURITY GUARD IS FUN. NONETHELESS, DON'T THINK I'M GOING TO STAY A LOWLY SECURITY GUARD! MY TRUE GOAL IS TO BECOME A MASTER CHEF! OR A MAGNIFICENT SCIENTIST!" Papyrus slapped his hand on the table enthusiastically. Frisk raised her eyebrows.

"So, you can cook?"

"OF COURSE I CAN! I'M AN EXCELLENT COOK!"

"Hmm... what's your favorite thing to make?"

"THAT'S EASY. SPAGHETTI IS MY FAVORITE! EVERYONE LOVES IT WHEN I MAKE IT FOR THEM!"

Frisk raised her eyebrows even further.

"Really?" she said. "I love spaghetti!"

Papyrus looked like he'd just met an angel. "REALLY?" He paused for a moment, looking momentarily conspiratorial. "DO YOU LIKE PUZZLES?"

In all honesty, they really weren't her thing- but even though she only knew this strange, innocent seeming man for a few minutes, she hated to disappoint him.

"Yeah! I love puzzles," she told him. His eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

"OH MY GOODNESS!" Papyrus abruptly pulled away and fished around in his pocket for something. He pulled out a notebook (with a picture of biceps with sunglasses on them) and opened it up right in the middle. He slapped down the notebook in front of Frisk.

"SOLVE THIS!" he said, handing her a pencil from his pocket. On the notebook before her was a crossword puzzle, clumsily written in pencil with obscure questions at the bottom. She put the piece of paper under her close scrutiny... then noticed that Grillby had been standing there for a little over 3 minutes with a paper bag and a bottle of ketchup.

"Um, Papyrus?" she said, pointing shyly at Grillby. Papyrus looked up.

"OH! DARN IT. I'M SORRY, MISTER GRILLBY! I GOT CAUGHT IN CONVERSATION. I'LL TAKE THAT NOW-THANK YOU- AND BE ON MY WAY! SEE YOU LATER-um- WHAT WAS YOUR NAME AGAIN?" He looked inquisitively at Frisk.

"My name's Frisk-"

Papyrus abruptly took hold of her hand and shook it violently.

"WELL IT'S NICE TO MEET YOU, FRISK! SEE YOU AT WORK!"

He left. Frisk stared after him in stunned silence for a moment, then smiled and returned to her cheeseburger.


	4. Flowey

**I live for reviews, so please do so.**

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Frisk's home had changed much in the month she had spent living in apartment A15 of Sno-Ril apartments. The first thing she got were curtains (she found them for $1 at a discount store,) then a frying pan, saucepan, baking sheet, kitchen knife, and cutting board (all of which were useless, for the most part, due to her cooking inexperience) then an old, cheap recliner and a few lawn chairs, (made necessary by the ever-visiting Papyrus.)

Papyrus made a much greater impact on her life than she ever could have anticipated. He came over on an almost daily basis. He brought food (which was all terrible, but it was sweet of him to try). He even seemed to genuinely _like_ her, which was a first for Frisk. She also made a discovery about Papyrus's brother, who had evidently been the strange, ketchup drinking man she met her first day working at the Hotlands. His name was Sans, and he was at her house almost as often as his brother. The brothers dominated nearly every second of her spare time, so when she got any true time to herself, she took it.

Frisk sat, reclined, with her feet resting on the window-sill, gazing absently at the one book she owned: _Tangled Up In Blue_ , by J.D. Brick. In all honesty, it was quite possibly the worst book she had ever read, but it had a lot of hilarious synonyms for the male genitalia, so it was all good. She had taken to writing all the synonyms she could find in the front of the book to look at when she got sad. Now that she finally sat herself down for some serious romance reading, she found the words floating off the page and soon abandoned any thought of getting any reading done.

She shut the book and looked out the window. For once, it wasn't snowing. That wasn't to say there wasn't a lot of snow on the ground, it just wasn't snowing. It was dark already. Frisk frowned and glanced down at her Adventure Time wristwatch. 9:45 pm. Her eyes bugged.

Frisk leaped up from her chair and practically flew to the bedroom, where she practically tore off her t-shirt and sweatpants in favor of a tiny, black skirt and a purple shirt that barely covered her small chest (Mettaton had told her frequently that purple was her best color). She snatched a pair of black pumps from the bottom of her closet and wedged them haphazardly on her feet. Having no time to fix her hair, she opted to instead brush it until it was as silky looking as possible, then she grabbed her black, fake-wool trench-coat and darted out the door as fast as her shoes would allow her.

While it might not have been snowy, that didn't mean it wasn't windy. The harsh, bitter wind tore through her hair and seeped through her coat so by the time she finally arrived at the Hotlands, she was chilled to the bone. Frisk checked her watch right before she went in. 9:59 pm. One minute before she was supposed to report for her shift. She pushed her way through the small crowd gathered in front of the club, only having to bat away a few wandering hands as she went.

She shoved the door open and threw herself inside, immediately ditching the coat and nearly sprinting behind the foyer door to her post... when she noticed Mettaton standing in front of the door. She froze.

"I'm sorry!" she said immediately, bowing low at the waist. "I didn't mean to be late, Mettaton! It won't happen again! I was just reading in my house- and you know how it is with books, you can just get sucked in!- and I wasn't paying attention to the time and I'm so sorry!"

Only then did she notice that Mettaton was giving her frantic signals to shut up; and she had no time to wonder why before a man stepped out behind him. The man was average height, (which meant he was huge to Frisk) and wearing a perfectly tailored, black, Armani suit. She didn't know much about clothes, but she knew an Armani when she saw one, and she also knew that you had to be a millionaire to afford one. The man was baby-faced, and had yellow hair and bright, emerald green eyes that stared innocently into her soul. The only thing that marred his otherwise innocent complexion was a jagged scar on his left cheek.

"And who is this?" asked the yellow-haired man sweetly. Mettaton looked momentarily like he was being forced to swallow cow dung, then abruptly gave an indulgent smile to the yellow-haired man.

"Why, this is Frisk! Our little barkeep. Isn't she just _precious_?" Mettaton grabbed Frisk's shoulders in a vaguely possessive manner. She figured that was her cue to give the yellow-haired man a smile, so she did.

"It's nice to meet you," she said, holding out her hand for the man to shake. The man grinned and took her hand, but instead of shaking it, he gently raised it to his lips and gave it a kiss. Mettaton's hands tightened on Frisk's shoulders.

"Golly, you sure are cute!" he said, grinning hugely. She blushed and withdrew her hand.

"Thanks," she replied. The man looked at Mettaton.

"You won't mind me taking her for the night, will you? Surely you can manage one night without your precious barkeep," said the man. Frisk winced in pain as Mettaton's fingers dug into her shoulder.

"Of _course_ , I don't mind. Just as long as you follow the rules and play _nice_ , we won't have any trouble." Mettaton reluctantly let go of Frisk's shoulders, and all at once, she felt both relieved and terrified. Even if the man seemed innocent and gentlemanly enough, she knew firsthand the dangerous effects of alcohol on otherwise harmless men. Not to mention Mettaton's unwillingness to let go of her in this man's presence. And what did it mean for him to "take her for the night"?

Surely it couldn't mean what she thought it meant, could it?!

Frisk felt a wave of panic wash over her. If she was expected to sleep with this guy, she wouldn't do it! No matter what Mettaton offered her, she was _not_ going to sleep with a stranger! The man held out his hand to her.

Her body went stiff and her muscles tightened, ready to run or fight or whatever was required of her to get out of this situation. The man smiled warmly.

"Aww, don't be scared of me, sweetheart. I'm not going to do anything to you. I just like to have someone there to- well- serve me a little. Not in the sexual way of course, just a little personal bar service and some light company."

Frisk frowned, but after a moment's contemplation, accepted his hand. Still, she wished Papyrus or someone else were there to sort things out if things got out of hand. Papyrus may not have been much of a fighter, but he looked threatening, and in most cases that was enough. As if on cue, Papyrus and Sans burst through the door, a gust of icy air following them.

"HONESTLY, SANS! WE'RE LATE AGAIN AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT! METTATON'S GOING TO HAVE OUR HEADS FOR THIS, AND I'M NOT TAKING THE BLAME THIS TIME!"

"S'not my fault you closed the door on my tie."

"WELL, THAT BIT MIGHT HAVE BEEN MY BAD. BUT YOU STILL COULD HAVE OPENED THE DOOR AND GOTTEN YOURSELF FREE!"

"Have you ever tried opening a door while suffocating on a tie? It's pretty hard."

"NO IT ISN'T! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, HAVE DONE IT A THOUSAND TIMES!"

Sans burst into laughter.

"Wait, you've done _what_ a thousand times?! Why am I never there when it happens?!" Sans gripped his stomach and doubled over, letting out great roars of laughter. Papyrus turned and noticed Frisk, Mettaton, and the yellow-haired man standing and staring at the two brothers.

"SANS!"

"Hold on a second, man!"

"SANS! THEY'RE WATCHING US!"

"Who, Santa? But we're not sleeping-"

Papyrus elbowed Sans in the gut. He grunted.

"Ow! Pap, what was that for-oh," Sans looked around, his eyes falling on the yellow-haired man and his smile instantly turning sardonic. "Sorry for the disturbance, _Sir._ I didn't know you were here."

He looked to Frisk, and she got the sudden feeling he was trying to communicate something very complicated to her through his eyes. She didn't really know him well enough to figure out what that message was, but she did know that whatever the message was, it wasn't good. She looked to Papyrus instead, who looked like he wanted to sink into the carpet and die. Who _was_ this guy anyway? From the look of him, he didn't look like he could do any damage to anyone. Maybe she was wrong, but... for some reason, something told her to trust the man.

Even if he _was_ dangerous, he couldn't possibly hurt her with Papyrus, Sans, and Aaron there. (Aaron was working on outside duty today, but he was still there.) She went with the man and Mettaton behind the first door, through the (now) empty club up the center stage, and eventually ended up in a small, extravagant looking room located at the back of the club; complete with a shelf of what appeared to be some very nice whiskeys, brandies, and bourbons as well as a spacious, black leather couch and coffee table.

The yellow-haired man plopped down on the couch and leaned back so he looked as relaxed as it was possible for any one man to be. He made a vague, sweeping gesture with his hand that Frisk took to mean "Leave". She wondered briefly why he was telling her to go away so soon- had she already done something to annoy him?- but then she heard the click of a door behind her and realized that the motion was for Mettaton.

The man leaned even further back into the couch and propped his feet up on the couch, folding his hands innocently on his stomach. He smiled.

"Can I have a drink, please?" he asked, sweetly. She smiled. He looked a little like a five-year-old asking for a glass of chocolate milk instead of the twenty-something businessman she guessed him to be. Maybe she'd found another sweetheart. Another jewel in the rough, like Papyrus.

"Sure," she said, immediately bustling off to the stash of liquor with Grillby-like efficiency. "What would you like-"

Frisk felt something cold and metal poke her on the back of the head.

" _You idiot,_ " said a cold, high pitched, slightly gravelly voice from behind her. She froze, right where she stood, rooted there by sheer terror. " _Did you think you could just waltz right back into my turf and there'd be no consequences?!"_ There was the click of a gun getting cocked.

"I-I'm so s-sorry! What did I do, Sir?!"

" _Aw, don't go acting all innocent with me, bitch!_ " He abruptly grabbed a fistful of her hair and turned her to face him, pushing her back to a wall. " _You know what you did!_ "

"No, I don't! I'm sorry!"

He pressed the gun to her forehead. " _I'm getting real tired of your bullshit. I don't know why Smiley Trash-bag let you live after what you did to his brother, but I'll let you know right now; your life ends_ here _._ "

"I'm sorry! I don't even know who you are! Please let me go!"

" _Oh, that's just rich. Give me a break, Bitch! You don't know who I am? Bullshit! Look me in the eye right now and tell me you don't know who I am! I dare you!_ " The yellow-haired man pressed the gun's barrel, hard, into her forehead.

"I really don't know who you are! Please don't hurt me, Sir-"

" _You know what, I'm sick of your voice._ " He jammed the gun barrel in her mouth. This was it. Frisk was going to die, here and now. She was never going to see Papyrus again, or Sans, or her little apartment, or anything ever again. Her death would do nothing, mean nothing. Nobody would even care she died. Maybe not even the police. There were a lot of thoughts that could pass through a person's head at a moment like that, but the only thing she thought at that moment was, _Screw this, I wanna live_.

" _Just give your ol' pal, Flowey, a little smile before you say toodle-oo, sweetheart_ ," said the yellow-haired man. She did not smile. Instead she bit down on the gun barrel and looked him straight in his emerald green eyes. The man frowned.

" _What's wrong with you?_ " he asked, twisting the gun in her mouth to it clacked against her teeth painfully. He stayed, staring deep into her eyes for a few seconds, which quickly turned into minutes. Eventually, he took the gun from her mouth. "You aren't her, are you?"

Frisk quickly shook her head. The yellow-haired man's sinister tone and facial expression vanished to be replaced by the same, sweet, innocent, childish mannerisms he used before.

"I'm so sorry!" he told her, untangling his fingers from her hair to give her head a gentle pat that made her flinch. "I didn't mean to scare you! Well, I did. But I thought you were someone else. Please forgive me, okay? I'm sure we can become _best_ friends. Just have a seat and we can pretend like none of that unpleasantness ever happened, alright?"

The yellow-haired took her by the shoulders and sat her down on the leather couch.

"By the way, I don't think I properly introduced myself. My name is Flowey! And I'm going to be your new best friend!"

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 **AND HERE'S WHERE FLOWEY APPEARS TO F*** S*** UP! (Apologies for any typos and thanks to anyone following this.**


	5. Thursday

**Hey, fellas. Thanks a million to anyone reading this, and please comment! (To be honest, I worked and reworked this chapter about a million times, and still don't really like it. While this isn't exactly a very exciting chapter, it DOES have a point. So, please read, enjoy, and bear with me for this. Also, for anyone who's curious, Abaddon is the name I made up for the horned occupant of Snowdin from the game, and Roscowe is the mouse monster with the scarf and big ears. In case anyone was curious.)**

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The Hotlands operated 7 days a week from 10:00 p.m. to 6:00 a.m., with 1 day reserved for Mettaton's special show where he, himself, performed. This was a special day for all the normal workers at the club- the only day each and every regular worker took off. Most people got weekends, Sans got Thursday. Well, he got part of Thursday, anyway.

Sans grinned as he sold yet another hot dog for $5.50. (At that price, the customer deserved a smile.) The customer, a short, chubby girl with blonde hair and a white hoodie with pictures of cats on it, smiled back at him and took a huge bite out of the hot dog. She gave him the thumbs up and walked off into the snow. It was amazing just how well these things sold in ten degree weather. Sans kept the grin on his face and considered the world around him. Cold, bleary, very little sunlight, and full of hobos and pollution. Just as he liked it.

It was about 2:30 in the afternoon, and tension was in the air. Only thirty minutes until normal people got off work, which meant good business for Sans. He was selling about a hot dog an hour, and had been since he got off work at the Hotlands at six o'clock that morning. That number would skyrocket to about a hot dog every ten minutes once the normal people got off work. If it was a good day maybe he would get a couple of families passing by. Altogether, he felt pretty positive.

Papyrus was in bed, and wouldn't get up again until about 5:00. Sans would get home at 4:30, go to bed, pretend to have been there since 8:00 in the morning, then sleep the rest of the day and night away until he got up for work again at 6:00. Exhaustion had become a sort of permanent state to Sans since he began working two jobs. It wasn't that either job was particularly grueling, (except when a guy at the Hotlands decided to take a knife to the club and got drunk. That was never fun.) but both required a long period of standing and waiting, (which resulted in rather impressive leg muscles, but nonetheless took its toll on him.)

Cold, too, was a problem, though not one that usually worried him. Sans generally had his stand right outside a large building with frequently opened doors that leaked substantial warmth for him to bask in, not to mention his enormous, blue coat with fur around the collar or his general tolerance to cold. Sans tapped his foot impatiently on the frozen ground and hunched over his stand. What wouldn't he give to just pass out and sleep, right here, right now? One of his regulars, a short little man with big ears and an even bigger scarf, waddled up to him and put $10 on the makeshift counter.

"Hey, Roscowe," said Sans. "You wantin' the usual? Where's Abaddon?"

"Oh," said Roscowe in his usual, small, squeaky voice. "Abaddon... well... he's sick today. He told me to get dinner today. So, if you would get me two hotcats, please?"

"Sorry 'bout Abaddon being sick. He alright?" Sans said, simultaneously plucking two hot dogs from his cart and applying ketchup, mustard, half a dill pickle, and a special sauce of his own invention that he called "liquefied cat".

"Yeah, he's just fine. Could you hurry up please?" Roscowe glanced conspiratorially side to side. _Ah_ , so it was one of _those_ days. The poor little guy was really absolutely void of all confidence, and had been as long as Sans had known him. Sometimes the lack of confidence and undeniable social awkwardness escalated into full on paranoia. It looked like it was going to be one of those days for poor Roscowe.

He wrapped the hot dogs individually in two thin sheets of paper and handed them to Roscowe. Roscowe took both, did a short bow by way of thanks, and took off. Sans watched him go, checked his watch, and sighed. 2:40. Only twenty more minutes before the normal people got off work. He rapped his knuckles harshly on the cart's top and wished time would pass faster. He briefly considered taking the rest of the day off, but then remembered how much he could use the money and stayed where he was.

It was amazing how days blended together when one had both a day and a night job. It was exactly the sort of thing his father had always talked about all those years ago. Sans's father had hated sleeping. He had always said it felt like his life was being stolen from him every hour he spent sleeping, so he rarely did. Sans remembered thinking, when he was much smaller, that he would never end up like his father, yet here he was.

Then again, his father had worked for much different reasons than Sans did. Not that Sans knew why his father had worked, but if his father's bank account was anything to judge by, it wasn't so he could keep a house for the family. Sans still wondered how he had managed to keep the house after his father disappeared, but was grateful for it nonetheless. Everything had turned out fine for everyone in the end, hadn't it? Papyrus even got a friend recently- what was her name again?- Frisk. Her name was Frisk.

There had been a little confusion for Sans and much adjustment when it came to the addition of Frisk to his little family. Papyrus insisted upon spending nearly every waking moment with the small, young-looking girl on the grounds that she loved him and it would be a real pity for the Great Papyrus to let any of his fans down. Honestly, after close observation of the girl, it was obvious that she didn't think of his brother in _that_ way, but it was a pity to shatter the illusion, especially if Paps was happy.

Sans yanked himself out of his reverie to check his watch.

2:55 pm.

If he wasn't so tired he would have done a jig. Only five more minutes until normal people got off work! His mind strained for something else to latch onto, anything that would make the time pass faster. He settled back on Papyrus's new friend, Frisk. Then he remembered something distinctly disturbing about her, (aside from the fact that she looked almost exactly like the crazed, mass-murderer that had almost killed him 3 years ago).

He remembered that she probably wasn't the same person she had been yesterday, because at 10:00 on Wednesday night, she had met-and gone with- Flowey to a back room where many a girl had gone and come back with bruises and fingernail and teeth marks and horrified eyes and even more horrifying stories to tell. Some of the girls, (okay, they were strippers, but before that, they were people) even had trouble walking afterwards.

If Frisk went into that club yesterday a virgin, she had definitely not come out one.

He felt a twinge of pity for the girl. Still, there was nothing to be done about it. After all, who would dare stand up against the boss of the Underground for a little case of violence against women? Sans sighed and was about to look at his watch again when he realized that a small line of about 4 or 5 customers had already queued up to his cart and each member of the line was beginning to look very impatient indeed.

"CAN WE _PLEASE_ GET OUR ORDERS?" said the man at the front of the line in a way that told Sans he had said this at least 5 times.

"Oh, sorry. Fell asleep a moment there. What do you want?"

The rest of the work day went exactly as expected, with him making a tidy $150 profit for his labor and nearly all unsavory thoughts of Frisk and Flowey and the Underground tucked neatly in the darkest corner of his mind. It was 4:05 in the afternoon, which gave him about 25 minutes to get home and it wasn't that far of a walk to his house. That gave him about 15 minutes to kill, and, while he was eager to get home and to bed, he was also hungry and absolutely sick of hot dogs.

There were really only three places Sans ever ate: home, (which he only ever did because Papyrus made him) his stand, and Grillby's. Since he didn't want hot dogs and was too tired to cook, really, his only option left for food was Grillby's, and he had no problems with that.

It took him only 5 minutes to get to his favorite restaurant from where he was, and when he arrived, he was almost certain he had died and gone to heaven. It smelled like french fry oil and burger grease and alcohol, and it was familiar and wonderful. He could have (and had) gone to sleep in this place, but sadly had only time for a quick bite. Sans made his way to the counter, where an orange haired man- not Grillby- was lazily attending the few customers there were in the daylight hours; and when he got there, he was surprised to find a small, brown-haired girl hunched over the bar.

He stopped, wondering if he dared go near the girl. He really didn't feel like comforting anyone right then, and if she noticed him... well, he'd be obliged. Sans frowned, then figured that even if she did spot him, he could just ignore her. She probably wasn't one of those people who would try really hard to get his attention.

Sans walked slowly to the counter, head down, shoulders up, and hands discreetly covering up his face. The only real problem with this strategy was, with all the measures he took not to be seen, it was very difficult for he, himself, to see. Sans's foot caught on a chair and he had a horrible moment in which he knew what was waiting for him, but it was far too late to stop it.

He threw his arms out in front of him, flailing incessantly until he at last crashed _right into Frisk's bar-stool_.

He thrusted his hand out, searching for anything with which he could stop himself from falling, and he grabbed the girl's arm. She let out a short scream and kicked out, nailing him in the shoulder, before she too crashed to the ground.

"Owwwwww," he groaned. "Owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww..."

"Hey! Are you okay?" the girl said, immediately scrambling to her knees and looming over him.

"Yeesh, kid. I think you might have broke my shoulder..." He groaned again, clutching his shoulder. He might have been a security guard, but that didn't necessarily mean he had any tolerance for pain.

"Sans?"

"Yep. Say, would you mind asking the barkeep for a cheeseburger to go? I'm kinda tied up at the moment-owww."

"Uh, hold on a moment- here, let me help you up- excuse me, sir? Could I get a cheeseburger to go?"

Sans slumped into a seat. He was caught. She looked at him, and, not knowing what else he could do, he smiled. His shoulder still hurt.

"So..." he said. "Are you okay? I kinda forgot to ask."

"Yeah," she said. "I'm fine. Are you...?"

"'Course I am." He looked her up and down. "So-"

"Why am I here?" she finished. It wasn't exactly what he'd wanted to ask, but close enough.

"Yeah. It's kinda early- or late ,depending on how you look at it- for someone with your job to be out."

"I guess so. I... just didn't want to go home is all," she smiled sheepishly. "Why are you here? It's late for you too."

"Hotlands isn't my only job, kiddo."

"Oh."

There was an awkward silence between them. He took a cursory glance at her, checking for bruises. Had Flowey spared her? It seemed impossible, but maybe... maybe he hadn't hurt her much. Should he ask her about it? He couldn't think of any other reason why she would be reluctant to go home and sleep. Why else would she _choose_ to deprive herself? If he really wanted to know about it, he could probably do some snooping and piece together what had happened. Or... he could take the easy route and ask. He bit the bullet.

"So, what happened at work yesterday?" he asked, mentally preparing for cold silence, tears, or even her to start screaming at him. There was silence for a while.

"You didn't come back after you went with that guy. I was just curious where you'd gone," he said, keeping his eyes away from her and wondering where the barkeep was with his damn cheeseburger.

"You knew that guy, didn't you?" she said levelly- coolly-emotionlessly- disturbingly similar to _another_ person he knew. He mentally checked to make sure he had the gun in his jacket. He did.

"Yeah," he said in a voice that could freeze fire. Sans saw her flinch in the corner of his eye and had to remind himself that she _wasn't_ the other girl. She was Papyrus's friend, and by extension, his friend. He calmed himself.

"You tried to warn me about him, didn't you?" she asked, this time with a hint of fear in her voice.

He felt a twinge of guilt.

"Sorta," he said.

"Sorry for not listening."

Sans looked at her with raised eyebrows. Was she honestly apologizing? Really? He was quiet for a while. The awkwardness seeped into his bones.

"It's alright," he said finally. "He didn't hurt you too bad, did he?"

"No... I guess not. I've had worse," she told him, smiling.

Had she now? Interesting. He looked down at his watch. He only had 5 minutes to get home. Where was that damn barkeep? He sighed, then remembered that he should probably be comforting the girl in one way or another. He searched his mind briefly for something that might work.

"Welp, got that at least. Say, you ever hear about the Argentinian with the rubber toe?"

She raised an eyebrow. "No..." she said suspiciously.

"Bet you can't guess his name," he said, grinning widely from ear to ear. She gave him a look that told him she knew what was coming next.

"What's his name?"

"Rubberto!" he snickered. The girl let out a little laugh and rolled her eyes.

"Wow, that was-"

"A classic!" he interrupted. "C'mon, that was great. Wanna hear another one?"

She gave him another look that told him she knew what was coming, and to his surprise, there was also barely concealed amusement along with false aggravation in her gaze. His smile was in earnest this time. He may have just found another bad joke junkie. Sans rattled his mind for another one.

"What do you call a sketchy Italian neighborhood?"

"I don't know..."

"The Spaghetto."

Frisk giggled in spite of herself, and just then, Sans's burger arrived. The barkeep dropped the bag and check disinterestedly on the table and went back to his business. Sans checked his watch. He had 2 minutes to get home. He groaned. Things really went to hell around this place when Grillby wasn't around, but sadly, Grillby had the night shift.

"Sorry kid, gotta split." He snatched his bag of food and was about to rush out the door when the girl stopped him.

"Hey, you haven't paid," she told him urgently, as if it was an honest mistake. If he was being truthful, he had entirely intended to skip out on his check, but now that she called him out on it, it looked like he wasn't getting out of paying. He sighed and considered skipping out anyway and letting her pay for him. She seemed to feel good enough, and if she was eating in a restaurant, she probably brought money with her. Then he remembered that he had scared her when she didn't deserve it, felt guilty, then regretfully pulled out ten dollars from his pocket and set it on the table.

"Hey kid, you got a pen?"

She shook her head. He sighed, then looked over the counter of the bar. He found one not too far from where he was sitting and scrawled his name on the piece of paper that said he'd paid.

"Welp, seeya," he told her. Once more she stopped him.

"Hold on!"

"What is it?"

"Your name is Gaster?" she asked him, looking at the receipt.

"Uh, yeah?"

"And your first name is Sans?" She looked like she had just seen a ghost.

"Yeah?"

"You're Comic Sans Gaster? As in, the author of _The Amazing Journey of W.D. Gaster-_ the kids' book?"

Sans froze.

"You _read_ that?"

She grinned hugely. "I loved that book! I read it all the time as a kid! My dad took me to the store once when I was 8 and I saw it on the shelf, and it looked so good I just had to get it. Wow, I can't believe I've been talking to the author of my favorite kids' book for so long and I never picked up on it!"

Sans was flabbergasted. Well, maybe at this point he was more _flabbergastered_.

"Why didn't you ever write anything else? Or did you? I walked to the store almost every day for at least a month after I got _The Journey of Gaster_ to see if there was anything else by you, but I guess I just never found anything."

"I only ever wrote the Gaster thing. It wasn't exactly a best-seller, so I never really wanted to write anything else. Besides, it was just an old bedtime story I used to tell Pap. Nothing special, really- you seriously read that?"

The girl's shoulders slumped and her face fell slightly, looking a bit dejected. It was honestly a little unfair just how cute some people could be.

"I thought it was special," she told him. Sans smiled and hesitantly patted her on the head.

"Good for you, kid. Glad to know someone read it. I really do have to go now, so seeya." And with that, Sans left.

He checked his watch. Already 15 minutes late. Sans stuffed his hand in the bag, pulled out the cheeseburger, and crammed as much of it in his face as he could. Once he got close to his house, he tossed the last of the cheeseburger on the ground and made quickly for the door. He opened the door silently in a quick motion he'd practiced thousands of times before and made his way upstairs as quickly and quietly as possible.

He took care to walk extra carefully around Papyrus's room and nearly passed it when something stopped him. He froze, right in front of Papyrus's room. Then, slowly, oh so slowly, he crept inside, crouching low and careful not to wake the sleeping giant, and stole a thin book from the only bookcase in the entire house. He sneaked out again, just as quietly and with practiced grace.

Sans slipped into his room, collapsed on the bed, and looked at the book he held in his hands. It was wide, thin, and had a cartoon skeleton, dressed in black, with cracks in its skull on the cover. He opened the book, watching the fictional skeleton, who was a scientist, perform his life-altering experiment and get sucked into an alternate fictional universe, then go through a huge ordeal to get back home and to his children.

Sans remembered the true events of the story. Only, in the other version, nobody knew what happened to the scientist. And the scientist never came back. Sans closed the book and smiled, wondering how it could possibly be anyone's favorite. Then he closed his eyes.

 _The Amazing Journey of W.D. Gaster_ indeed.


	6. Followed

**Hey, guys! Got a new chapter up! Thanks to anyone who's reading and please comment!**

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Papyrus loved following Frisk.

This was one of the few definite facts Frisk had ascertained about him in the time they had known each other, along with a few of his likes and dislikes. She knew he definitely liked spaghetti and puzzles, definitely disliked hot dogs and getting shocked, and then she wasn't so sure about how he felt about Sans.

The man practically tailed her like a lost puppy, always bringing her puzzles he'd made or food he'd cooked or new revelations of the mind. She found she liked most of his attention, finding it pleasant and adorable to a fault, but this? This, she felt, was going a bit far.

"Papyrus? I don't think that's a good idea," she said.

"WHAATT? WHY? IT'S A GREAT IDEA! ALMOST AS GREAT AS I AM!"

"I don't know..." Frisk picked up an abandoned glass and wiped the table under it. Music thrummed in her surroundings and the scent of alcohol was thick in the air. She tried to avoid his eyes by looking at some of the dancers on stage instead. They only made her more uncomfortable.

"WHAT ABOUT MY SPECIAL HOLIDAY ISN'T GREAT? WE CAN RUN THROUGH PUZZLES AND EAT THINGS AND MAKE THINGS AND... WELL... LOTS OF THINGS!" Papyrus's eyes went wide and pleading. Frisk tried to remain stern.

"I just don't think we should... I mean... it's so cold outside and icy and... well... it's not like anybody else but you and me would be there and..." Frisk tried to distract herself by picking up stray napkins left by earlier customers.

"OH! THAT'S WHAT'S WRONG? SANS WILL BE THERE, OF COURSE! I MADE HIM PROMISE NOT TO SLEEP ALL DAY TOMORROW SO HE COULD COME!"

"You did?"

"OF COURS-"

"Yo! Barmaid!" yelled a man sitting on a stool about 6 feet away from her. "Get o'er here! They don't pay ye to socialize, do they?"

"Oh, of course Sir! Sorry for the wait. What can I get you?"

The man appeared visibly struck by her polite manner of speaking.

"Well," he said appreciatively. "If you e'nt just the sweetest lil' thing I ever saw-"

"What can I get you?" she repeated. If working at the Hotlands (and a few stern talking-to's from Mettaton) had taught her anything, it was to head off the customers before they started thinking they were the boss.

"Oh, well then, I'll just have a shot of MTT brand whiskey, on the rocks."

"Coming right up Sir." She got him the whiskey, and, while she was by no means an expert in the quality of alcoholic beverages, even she could tell that the stuff was the cheapest of the cheap. She slid the glass of amber liquid to the man, then returned to Papyrus, who had evidently come up with another reason for her to attend his ridiculous holiday.

"I HAVE ALREADY PREPARED THE PUZZLES AS WELL! (SOMEONE AS GREAT AS ME IS ALWAYS PREPARED WELL IN ADVANCE.) AND WHEN WE'RE DONE WE CAN HAVE SOME HOT CHOCOLATE AND PIE AND DINNER (I'M MAKING SOMETHING REEEAALLY SPECIAL, JUST YOU WAIT.) COME ON! IT'LL BE FUN! PLEASE?"

She sighed and was silent for a while.

"Well... I guess that sounds pretty nice. I'll come-"

"REALLY?!"

"Y-yeah-"

Two enormous hands clapped down on her shoulders and squeezed in giddy excitement.

"YOU WON'T REGRET IT, DEAR FRIEND!" With that, he bounded off, back to his post at the door. She smiled after him, then almost immediately frowned again as another customer called for her service.

"Hey! Get over here and serve me an' my pals summa that grade A Kraken and coke!"

"Coming, Sirs. You all want the same thing, right?"

Some time later, Frisk sat at the edge of her bed and fiddled with her hands. The lights were out and the curtains were drawn shut, so the only source of light was the electronic alarm clock on the floor next to her bed. It was already 7:00 in the morning, but it was still dark.

Frisk was still trying her hardest to go to sleep, yet sleep eluded her. True, it had only been 20 minutes since she'd gotten home, but nonetheless, Papyrus was coming by to pick her up at 1:00 in the afternoon, which only gave her about 6 hours of sleep at best. On the up side, it was a Thursday, so she would get to sleep in when she got home.

Well, maybe that wouldn't be true. Sans was coming, or at least, that's what Papyrus told her- and when Sans was coming, the chances of the brothers being late went up considerably. So, that meant her time of sleep could potentially be go up to 6 hours and 40 minutes. But, she only got that 6 hours and 40 minutes if she went to sleep immediately.

She swung her legs up on the bed and closed her eyes, snuggling down in the covers for good measure. She stayed like that for a long while, begging anyone listening that sleep would find her. It didn't.

Frisk tossed and turned, trying to find any position that could make her even a little tired, but finding none. After a while, she kicked off the covers and tried curling into a ball for sleep, then found herself cold and even more uncomfortable than before.

She tried moving the pillow from her head and using it as a makeshift teddy bear. She tried sitting against the wall for support. She tried going completely under the covers. She even tried counting sheep. Nothing was working, and to make things even worse, it was getting light outside!

She glanced down at the clock. 8:00. Frisk groaned, then climbed out of bed, dragging her covers and pillow with her. It had been a while since she'd slept on the floor, but maybe it would work. Frisk plopped the pillow on the ground next to her bed, knelt, and set her head on it, wrapping herself in a cocoon of blankets and closing her eyes.

Aside from the strange smelling carpet and the red light showing through her eyelids from the alarm clock, it was actually surprisingly relaxing. She shifted herself so her back was facing the clock and tried to will her mind to drift into oblivion.

Cruel reality was, however, that the harder she tried to drift from reality, the more anchored she became. Her mind didn't wander to anything, but instead stayed right where it was and focused on her surroundings and became increasingly annoyed. She took a few deep breaths- in through her nose, out through her mouth- until she calmed down.

At last, after what seemed an eternity, she finally began to fall into the state of bliss that came right before sleep. Frisk rolled over one last time, her arm sliding comfortably under the bed, then...

Her eyes snapped open. What was that? Her hand groped about under the bed for the thing she'd touched, finding a slight hump on the carpet. It felt like... paper? She pulled the thing out from under the bed and stared at it a moment.

It was an envelope.

She turned it so she could look at the back. There was something written on it, but in the current light, it was difficult to read.

Frisk pushed herself off the ground, made her way to the light switch, and turned it on. The back of the envelope was marked, in scratchy handwriting, "Frisk". She furrowed her eyebrows, then put the rest of the envelope under close scrutiny. She couldn't find any other name on it besides her own.

She opened it- thinking that perhaps it was a letter from Mettaton or her landlord that she just hadn't seen in the month or so she'd been living there- and pulled out a single scrap of paper with four words on it, all written in the same scratchy handwriting.

Her breath caught in her throat.

"You are being followed."


	7. Puzzles

**Hey guys! I know I haven't updated in a while, but thanks to anyone who's kept up with me thus far! Sorry for any typos, and please leave a comment!**

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Sans awoke exactly 8 hours after he'd gone to sleep with two things on his mind. Where are my socks, and, more importantly, _ahhhhhhhhhhhh_. He rolled around on his bed comfortably, then slowly opened his eyes to check the clock. It was 3:00.

He heard the muffled sounds of somebody talking downstairs and figured that it must be Papyrus doing his morning routine. Sans closed his eyes and buried himself even deeper in his nest of a bed, filled with dirty clothes, covers, and the occasional insect. It felt like heaven to him though.

He heard another voice join Papyrus's downstairs.

"Could you please stop that? I told you, I'm alright..."

Who was that? He and Papyrus didn't really have anyone close enough to let into their home, did they? Was it a salesperson, or something? Sans rolled out of bed and stealthily crept out the door to listen at the top of the staircase.

His heart almost stopped when he heard the voice, then he remembered. Frisk. It was just Frisk. Why was she here? Had Papyrus invited her?

Oh, but he had. That was why Sans had gotten to sleep as long as he had. Frisk was invited to Papyrus's new holiday. The Puzzles Day thing. Yeah, that made sense.

Sans shuffled off to the bathroom, turned on the water in the shower, stripped, and stepped in, letting the water wake him up for the day. The scar on his chest somehow seemed to stick out a little more than usual. He frowned and picked at it for a second, then shrugged and picked up a bar of soap.

A little while later, Sans hobbled out of his room, clean, shaven, and wearing his favorite blue hoodie and a pair of comfortable, black sweatpants.

"G'mornin'," he called down the stairs. Frisk and Papyrus were both sitting on the saggy old couch in the living room. Frisk smiled a little and waved, but Papyrus seemed a little less than happy to see him.

"HONESTLY, BROTHER. EVEN WHEN THE APPOINTMENT IS AT HOME, YOU'RE STILL LATE! IF FRISK HADN'T ASKED ME TO LEAVE YOU SLEEPING, I WOULD HAVE ALREADY POURED SO MUCH SPAGHETTI ON YOU, YOU WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN ABLE TO SLEEP FOR A WEEK!"

 _Thanks, Frisk_ , he thought to himself.

"Uh, sorry, Papyrus. Hey, kid."

"Hey, Sans."

"WELL, WE'VE ALREADY HAD BREAKFAST. IF YOU WANT ANY, THERE'S SOME LEFT IN THE FRIDGE. WE'RE GOING ON AHEAD, SO CATCH UP WHEN YOU'VE HAD SOMETHING. FRISK, ARE YOU SURE YOU'RE ALRIGHT? YOU DIDN'T EAT MUCH-"

"I told you, I'm fine. Let's just go, ok? Sans, is it okay if we go ahead?"

Sans frowned and raised an eyebrow. There was something wrong about the way she was acting. She seemed, scared somehow. It wasn't him, was it?

"Nah, I'm coming with you. I'm not hungry, anyway." That was bullshit. He hadn't eaten in at least 20 hours, but honestly, he didn't think his stomach could take the abuse his brother's cooking could dish out. Heh, _dish_ out.

"Alright, then, er, let's go?" said Frisk.

"YES, LET'S. NOW WHERE'S MY SCARF?"

"S'right in the kitchen, bro," replied Sans, immediately.

"oh, YES, THERE IT IS! HOW DID IT GET IN HERE?"

"Think you might have left it there, bro."

"NOW WHY WOULD I DO THAT?"

"Don't know. Maybe it was trying to get cooked."

"THAT'S RIDICULOUS, SANS! YOU AND I BOTH KNOW I ONLY COOK THINGS WITH NOODLES IN THEM!"

"Then maybe it was pretending to be a noodle."

Papyrus sighed. "ALRIGHT, MAYBE IT WAS PRETENDING TO BE A NOODLE. CAN WE GO NOW?"

"You could say it was-"

"OH NO. PLEASE NO-"

"-an impasta."

"FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE!"

Frisk held her mouth and nose to keep herself from laughing. Sans shrugged and winked.

"UGH, VERY FUNNY AS USUAL, SANS. NOW CAN WE GO?!"

"Sure. You ready, kid?"

"Yeah."

Papyrus threw open the door and bounded outside into the cold wasteland that was Snowdin City. Frisk stepped outside gingerly, watchful of ice, and Sans followed, closing and locking the door behind him.

"COME ON, HURRY UP!"

"We're comin', Bro." Sans and Frisk shuffled off after Papyrus, careful to only walk on snow as opposed to ice. Papyrus obviously had no such restrictions, and simply went on at full speed regardless of friction or lack thereof.

Frisk kept her head down, her shoulders up, and her hands in her pockets. Sans noticed her eyes flicking from side to side, and occasionally looking behind her. She avoided looking at him. What was she doing? Was she scared of him? That didn't make much sense. He hadn't done anything that scary, had he?

"Hey, kid. What'cha lookin' for?" he said quietly, so Papyrus wouldn't hear.

"Hm?" she looked up at him, then quickly averted her eyes. "Nothing, really. Just a little... um... nervous about today. You know?"

"You do know you're safe around us, right? You don't have to be nervous."

She smiled. "Yeah, I know."

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot to tell you." He leaned closer to her and began speaking in a conspiratorial tone. "You are safe, first of all, but my brother, you see... he can get a little... overzealous when he's around someone he really likes. Wants to impress 'em, you understand? But, well, there might be a couple of puzzles that could hurt someone if they aren't in top condition."

She raised an eyebrow and looked right at him.

"Yeah, so... if there's something like that, I generally just pretend to fall and say something along the lines of 'oh no, I have been defeated. Thoroughly japed again by the Great Papyrus'."

"But wouldn't he be hurt if we don't do his puzzles?" Frisk cocked her head to the side.

"Nah, not really. He'll be disappointed, sure, but it's better than coming away from it with a scar."

Frisk frowned, then looked away.

"Hey, where's Papyrus?" she asked.

"Oh, he's in the creepy alleyway a little ahead of us. The left one."

"Hmm," she said, furrowing her eyebrows in concern. Still, when the alley came, she turned and went in. Sans followed.

"WELCOME, FRISK (and sans), TO MY PALACE OF PUZZLES!" Papyrus said, throwing his arms open to reveal the splendor of a dirty, ice covered alleyway. Beyond the alley was a small space, with about a ten foot radius and several other alleys connected to it. It looked like the perfect place for a murder, if Sans was honest with himself.

The buildings surrounding were all mostly abandoned, and nobody cared if anyone trespassed because nobody payed attention. On the ground were several lengths of tape stretched from wall to wall, clearly marking several imaginary boundaries between each puzzle. The first line was about four feet in front of them.

"IN ORDER TO ADVANCE FURTHER INTO MY CASTLE, (IT ISN'T REALLY A CASTLE, BUT A CLEVER PRETENSE TO MAKE THINGS MORE INTERESTING) YOU MUST PASS THROUGH 7 PUZZLES, THEN YOU MUST FACE ME, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, IN A TRUE BATTLE OF WITS! NYEHEHEH!"

Frisk smiled. Papyrus was too busy monologuing to notice.

"THE FIRST PUZZLE YOU MUST FACE IS THE INCREDIBLE BUTTON MAZE! NOT ONLY MUST YOU FIND ALL FOUR BUTTONS AND PRESS THEM, BUT YOU MUST ALSO PRESS THEM ALL IN A CERTAIN ORDER! THOROUGHLY JAPED BY THE GREAT PAPYRUS!"

Papyrus crossed his arms, presumably to look more intimidating. Sans leaned against a wall and slid to the ground.

"Oh, no, I have been defeated. How could this be."

"SANS! AT LEAST TRY A LITTLE!"

"I can't, I'm defeated."

"SANS!"

Frisk, meanwhile, was brushing snow away from the ground to find a great big, red button labelled "1". It wasn't connected to anything. Sans laughed. Papyrus had evidently forgotten to take off the labels. This fact was quickly proven by Papyrus exclaiming loudly, "OH, DARN IT! I FORGOT TO TAKE OFF THE LABELS!"

She pushed the button. It let out an electronic honk of despair. The number 4 button was found buried clumsily right next to where Sans was sitting, and the 2 button was found under the number four button.

Sans liked watching, because it meant he could do absolutely nothing. And watch, he did... right up until Frisk finally spotted the final button stuck about twenty feet up on a wall. She frowned, then looked directly at him. Oh man, she wasn't expecting him to help, was she?

"Sans, could you help me get up there?"

"Huh? Get up where?" he asked, feigning ignorance. She gave him a look, then said, "I have an idea. How much weight can you hold?"

"Huh? I dunno. Probably not much." That was a lie. Though Sans may have looked short and weak, he could throw a man twice his size with little to no effort.

"Do you think you could handle my weight on your back for a few seconds? I need something to jump off of. Just something to give me a boost. Please?"

Sans sighed. "Alright, kid, what do you want me to do?"

"Just get up and turn around so you're facing the wall. Try and brace yourself by putting your hands on the wall and jutting out so I can get a good foothold on your back."

"I'm not sure I like this idea-"

"It'll only be for a second. Sorry about this."

Sans did as she asked and waited, shoulders tensed.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Yep."

Sans had the abrupt feeling of his spine being cracked in two before he saw the girl catapult straight off his back, then jump from wall to wall. Not climbing. She used the force of each jump to propel herself further and further up the wall! He was amazed against his will as she finally wrenched the button off the wall and slide safely to the ground. If the look on Papyrus's face was anything to go by, he was pretty in shock as well.

"Yeesh, kid. Where are you from? The Matrix or somethin'?"

"No, I just had a hallway back at my house I used to like doing that on-"

"WOW, SANS, YOU WERE ACTUALLY USEFUL!"

"Huh?"

"I NEVER WOULD HAVE GUESSED HOW GREAT OF A STAIR YOU COULD BE! WE SHOULD BUILD ON THIS. YOU HAVE GREAT PROMISE-"

"Sorry, Papyrus, but can we go through the tape now?" interceded Frisk.

"oh, YES, OF COURSE. NEXT IS MY FABULOUS ELECTRICITY MAZE!"

The next few puzzles went by in a similar manner as the first. Sans gave up right off the bat, then Frisk solved each and every one easily, though that wasn't so much a direct result of her puzzle prowess and more of a result of Papyrus's lack thereof.

After each puzzle solved, Sans observed Papyrus getting increasingly irritated. Still, Papyrus tried to remain professional about the whole business, and was failing miserably. By the time Frisk had passed by the seventh puzzle, Papyrus was so flustered that he barely had enough words to say "it's time for our battle of wits."

"ERR, WOWIE. THAT WAS... FASTER THAN I EXPECTED... BUT, DO NOT WORRY! I, THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE PUZZLE MASTER PAPYRUS, AM ALWAYS PREPARED! IT'S TIME NOW FOR OUR GREAT BATTLE OF WITS! JUST IN THAT BUILDING IS THE GREATEST CHALLENGE YOU HAVE EVER FACED!"

Sans frowned. He didn't mean... what Sans thought he meant, did he? No, that couldn't be. That was just an idea, an old thing in an old sketchbook. Papyrus didn't mean to put that into reality, did he?

Frisk, Papyrus, and Sans walked into the old, half fallen down, abandoned building. Sans's eyes immediately checked the entire area, finding an old dresser with broken glass all around and under it, as well as plenty of cigarette butts and some old bottles. His eyes traveled up the walls to the ceiling... only to discover that about 3/4ths of the ceiling was nothing much more than three wooden boards and... something else swinging about above it.

That was the second story... and it looked like they were headed to a staircase. Shit. Sans looked at Frisk, trying desperately to communicate without words. She'd already spotted the problem though, and to his surprise, she did not look afraid. She looked... strange. Determined, somehow. As though she knew without the shadow of a doubt that she could make it.

He almost wanted to believe her... then remembered that he, himself, could barely make it through (if his guess was correct,) and if he couldn't make it through, then there probably wasn't anyone who could make it through- much less an 18-year-old girl who didn't have enough mass to fill a teacup. If he sneezed hard, she'd get blown away!

The three went up the stairs and ended up on the second floor. The second floor had two somewhat large sections of (hopefully) safe floor. Sans, Papyrus, and Frisk stood on one of the platforms of safe floor, while the other platform was on the other end of the room. Three wooden boards stretched between them.

Altogether, it was already a bat-shit crazy idea to try and cross the room, but if you added the enormous number of sandbags, bottles, and even what looked like enormous knives swinging around on wires from the ceiling... it was just stupid. He looked over to Frisk. Surely, she thought this was completely insane too, didn't she? She didn't look scared. She looked _determined_.

Oh no.

"I've been defeated. I give up," said Sans, immediately. He tried to make some sort of silent sign to Frisk. She wasn't looking at him. Papyrus ignored him too.

"BEHOLD! THE GAUNTLET OF DEADLY TERROR! THIS WILL BE, BY FAR, THE MOST DIFFICULT TASK YOU HAVE EVER FACED! YOU HAVE TO PASS THIS ENTIRE- WAIT! I HAVEN'T FINISHED EXPLAINING YET!"

Before anyone could do anything to stop her, Frisk stepped right onto the center board and started walking slowly, but confidently to the other end of the room. Sans thought his heart might burst from his chest.

"Kid, what are you doin'?! This is stupid!"

"I'm going to make it to the end of this room!" Frisk ducked to avoid the oncoming sandbag, then continued forward. "Don't distract me! I don't want to fall!"

Sans shut up and watched intently as she made her way across. A full bottle of water (by far, the least threatening thing in this puzzle) almost smacked her in the chest, but she managed to avoid it by bending all the way back so she looked like a gymnast on a balance beam. Was that what she'd been before she'd come here?

She dodged all the obstacles that came at her with shocking agility. She was already a little more than halfway through it... just a little further...

The board creaked.

He could see the shiver go up Frisk's spine and her balance go for just a moment. She teetered where she stood, only just managing to avoid being hit by one of the knives. Sans put a foot on the board, intending to go and get her if necessary. She regained her balance, turned, gave the thumbs up to Papyrus and Sans, and was immediately smacked, straight in the chest by a flying water bottle.

Sans had a horrifying moment where he saw her falling, saw the surprise on her face, saw the look in her eyes that he always associated with the victory in a battle. She slipped, crashed into the board, and somehow, _somehow_ managed to cling to the only thing keeping her alive.

He rushed on, barely stopping at every obstacle he dodged. She was slipping, but for some reason, she didn't say anything. She barely made a noise. Once he got close enough, he dropped to a sitting position, then hooked his knees around the board and flipped under. The obstacles whooshed on above him, unable to reach him.

He stretched out a hand for Frisk to grab.

"C'mon, kid. Take my hand!"

She looked at him with terrified eyes, but slowly reached out a hand for his.

"This is gonna hurt," Sans groaned.

"What?!" Frisk exclaimed. Sans yanked on her hand, hard. She let out a yell as she came down, swinging only by Sans's arm.

"Grab my other arm!"

Frisk obeyed. Every muscle in San's body felt like it was being ripped to shreds. "Now, climb me and when you get up there, dangle from your knees so the swinging things can't hit you."

Frisk immediately pulled herself up, almost tearing his arm out of his socket in the meantime, and crawled up his body. It hurt like _hell_ , but he bore it. Before he knew it, she too, was dangling right next to him by her knees. It was a good thing she was... well... like she was, or she'd be dead.

Both of them started moving, slowly to the other end of the room. The agony was almost unbearable. Splinters came off in his legs through his sweatpants. Seriously, this was just stupid. He knew it was a cliche, but really, he was just getting too old for this shit. He ground his teeth together, trying to cope.

Suddenly, he saw something white flutter down from the kid's general direction and board lurched as she made a wild grab for it.

"Just let it go, please..." he groaned. They continued moving.

It seemed like years passed before he finally reached the end of the room. Frisk sat up easily and scurried to safety. Great, now how was he supposed to sit up? This was really, really gonna hurt. He was breathing heavily from the exertion as he strained his stomach muscles to sit up. Then, like an angel from heaven, a hand extended to him from the safety of the platform.

He grabbed, wildly for it and pulled himself up, barely avoiding a sandbag as he hastened to safety and collapsed immediately on the floor. Frisk sat there next to him, looking both terrified and satisfied at the same time. She smiled at him, and, after a moment, he smiled back.

They both looked back at Papyrus, who was staring, open mouthed at the two of them with horrified eyes. Frisk gave him the thumbs up.

"We're fine!"

There was a moment of silence, then, without warning, Papyrus rushed back down the stairs, and appeared only seconds later on their side. He stared at them, then abruptly grabbed them both and hugged furiously.

"NYOHOHOOO! I'M SO SORRY! I KNEW THIS ONE HAD NO CLASS, NONE AT ALL! I ALMOST KILLED YOUUU! I'M SO SORRY!"

"Pap, can't breathe, can't _breathe_!" Sans squealed from his brother's arms.

"OH, SORRY BROTHER," Papyrus loosened his grip on the two. "I'M SO SORRY, FRISK! I DIDN'T MEAN TO... NYOHOHOOOO! I'M A HORRIBLE BEST FRIEND..."

"No, Papyrus. Come on, we're still friends! Me and Sans are okay! See? It was fun!"

Sans did a double take. FUN?! That was the least fun he'd had since the last time he'd gotten his tie caught in the door!

"REALLY?" said Papyrus, incredulous.

"Yeah, I haven't had that much fun since... well... ever, I think." Frisk smiled widely and scratched the back of her head. It was just a level of adorable Sans was not prepared for after he'd almost died.

"W-WELL. IN THAT CASE, D-DO YOU WANT TO COME HOME WITH US AND HAVE SOME FOOD?"

"Sure, that sounds great," she said, smiling hugely and genuinely.

"WELL, I GUESS... WE BETTER GO THEN, IF YOU GUYS ARE READY?"

"Sounds good. Do you need help, Sans?" She held out a hand for him. He took it. They all went down the flight of stairs, Sans lagging behind Papyrus and Frisk so he could catch his breath. Papyrus and Frisk went straight out the door before he could even get close.

Sans was about to follow, when he noticed something small and white on the ground. Was that the thing Frisk had dropped earlier? Looked like it. _Better return it to her_ , he thought, picking it up. It was a small slip of paper with a message on the back.

He flipped it over and read the message. His eyes widened.

" _You are being followed._ "


	8. Pizza Rolls

**Hey guys! New chapter of Trouble out. Please comment. Just read and enjoy and comment.**

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Frisk grimaced as she took yet another batch of failed muffins out of the oven. Well, they didn't resemble muffins as much as medium sized, nearly black rocks at this point, but at least she was getting better. She took a butter knife and sawed one of the things out of its holder and cracked it open to look at the inside.

Steam burst forth as she peered carefully into the failed quick-bread and she saw a small patch, somewhere in the center, of perfectly cooked muffin. Then she sighed and dug it out with a spoon. Not bad.

Without bothering to crack open the other muffins, she tossed the whole thing, pan included, in the trash bin. The pan would never get completely clean anyway... She glanced down at her watch. It was 9:00 already, which left her about 30 minutes to get something in her belly before she had to get showered, dressed, and leave for work.

Maybe she should just have some Pizza Rolls again? She felt a little sick at the thought. Frisk had lived off practically nothing but Pizza Rolls, bad spaghetti, and Grillby's for as long as she'd been in Snowdin, but at this point, it didn't look like she had any other options available to her. She sighed, then went to the freezer, grabbed the bag of Pizza Rolls, put about 10 on a baking sheet, and put them in the oven.

Maybe Sans knew how to cook, she thought. If Papyrus's prowess was anything to go by, he probably didn't know anything about food, but if he _did_... If he did, maybe he could teach her a few recipes or something.

Maybe she could ask him at work.

In all honesty, if she was going to ask anyone at work, Mettaton would probably be the best candidate. Frisk frowned a little at the idea. She really wasn't close enough to Mettaton to ask for something like that. She probably wasn't even close enough to Sans to ask him for anything, really.

Papyrus was really the only close enough to her to even consider teaching her how to cook, and he was just as bad as she was! It was just so frustrating! She didn't even know where to start on her food education, and the cook book she'd bought hadn't helped any if those muffins were anything to go by.

Frisk looked down at her watch. 9:15 pm. When did she put the Pizza Rolls in again? She opened the oven and took a glance inside. They were done. She let out a sigh of relief and grabbed an oven mitt to get them out. Even if she couldn't cook anything, she could still make Pizza Rolls. That was comforting, at least a little.

After she'd put her lunch out on a plate she stared at it for a bit, then looked to her watch. 9:19 pm. Only 41 minutes until she had to be at work. She really didn't want to eat... but if she didn't, she'd be starving halfway through the work day...

Frisk abandoned the Pizza Rolls on the counter and went for a shower instead.

When she got out again, she blow dried her hair, picked out a suitable outfit for the night, and went back to the kitchen to stare mournfully at her disappointing meal. She shouldn't complain, really. She was lucky she had food at all, even if it was a little... lackluster in appearance.

She picked one up and ate it whole. It was already cold. Frisk sighed, then looked at her watch. She only had 20 minutes to get to work.

It didn't take long to get dressed. This time she was wearing a deep blue dress with horizontal, pink stripes that hugged her waist and flared out at the skirt. It covered everything essential, but saying it went down to her mid thigh would be generous. If she had her way, she would have worn a pair of leggings underneath, but as it was she only wore a pair of stockings to cover her legs.

She tugged at the hem of her skirt, trying to make it miraculously lengthen. It didn't work. She cocked her head to the side and fluffed her hair a bit, then frowned, grabbed a coat, and walked as fast as she could out the front door... then nearly fell flat on her face as she tripped on something soft and squishy lying on her doorstep.

SMACK! "OW!"

The squishy thing made a gurgling, rasping noise and curled into a ball on the ground while Frisk twisted frantically to figure out what had tripped her. It looked like a big ball of pulsating, black goo.

She screamed. The thing looked up and let out a sound that sounded like a mouse going through a cheese grater and she saw, upon closer investigation, that it was a man wearing an enormous, black cloak. He was pale enough to be a ghost, and two, great big scars stretched vertically across his face.

"What are you doing here?!"she shrieked. "Who are you?!

The man looked at her with enormous, shocked eyes and waved his hands frantically in front of his face in self defense. Something occurred to her.

"Are-Are you the one who's been following me?! I swear, if you are th-then I've got friends who can kick your butt!" Did she though? Papyrus may have _looked_ intimidating, but in reality couldn't out-intimidate a teddy bear. No need to let this guy know that though.

The man shrunk back into the wall and made a raspy, growling sound that she took for an apology. She frowned, feeling guilty. Maybe she had overreacted? The man didn't seem dangerous... he seemed scared, somehow.

"Um, are you alright?" she asked, finally. He looked up at her. "I'm sorry for yelling at you."

He did something with his hands. Was that sign language?

"Hey, is everything okay? Can you speak? How long have you been out here? Were you sleeping?"

The man nodded, then signed something else that she didn't understand. Frisk raised her eyebrows in concern, then put the man under her close scrutiny. Upon closer inspection, the man was actually very thin and sickly looking. His black cloak was so enormous on him, he was completely shrouded in it, and to top it all off, it was drenched and shiny with melted snow.

She took a deep breath.

"Why don't you come inside? I've got some Pizza Rolls and tea inside if you want any."

The man shook his head, pale hair swishing back and forth. She frowned.

"You'll get hurt if you stay out here. Look, you're all wet and it's freezing! At least come in and warm up a little!" She abruptly grabbed his hand and pulled him, forcefully to his feet, which also forced her to realize just how tall he was. He towered over her, though there was a definite instinctual hunch in his posture, and she could tell that if he ever stood up straight he would be nearly as tall as Papyrus.

He was an older man, perhaps 45-50 years old, and by the looks of him, he hadn't had a decent meal in a long time. His nose was small and crooked, as though it had been broken several times, and his eyes were mismatched.

There was something distinctly familiar about his one, icy blue eye that she couldn't quite place... perhaps because his other eye was droopy and had a black iris that reminded her of a bottomless abyss. There was just something about him that _inspired_ sympathy. Maybe it was the way he moved as if he was terrified of being touched. Maybe it was the fact that the scar stretching down from his right eye made him look like he was permanently crying.

Frisk led the man inside and closed the door after them.

"Well, this is my house," she told him, immediately bustling off to the kitchen to get some tea. "You can make yourself at home. There's a bed and a shower if you need-"

THUMP!

Frisk whipped around, and saw the man sprawled out on the floor.

"Hey, are you okay?! How did you- oh."

The man sat up and started tugging violently at the bottom of his cloak, which had evidently stuck in the door. Frisk fought hard against a snicker and instead opened the door enough for the man to pull himself free.

The man looked up, smiling sheepishly. She smiled back.

"Would you like some tea? I have to leave for work pretty soon, but- here, let me help you up- I can make some for you before I leave. Would you like that?"

He nodded. Her smile widened.

"Alright then. You know, you should really take off that cloak, it's absolutely drenched!" She stood on tip toe to reach the clasp at his neck, but he shied away, shaking his head. She backed off. "Sorry. Is golden flower tea okay with you? It's the only kind I really have..."

The man nodded and curled his lips upward into a small smile.

"Okay!" she told him, quickly going into the kitchen and putting the kettle on. She checked her watch. Her heart jumped in her chest. 10:00 pm. Mettaton was going to kill her!

Frisk tapped her foot impatiently and stared at the kettle, willing it to boil faster. It didn't. There was at least 5 more minutes until the water boiled. She waited. Four more minutes until the water boiled. Three more minutes until the water boiled. Two more minutes until the water boiled. One more minute until the water boiled.

She was practically squirming on the spot, checking her watch every ten seconds. Finally, she heard the kettle whistle and whipped it off the stove eye, quickly pouring it into a mug and plopping a tea bag into it. Frisk snatched the mug from the counter, and was about to bring it to the mysterious man when suddenly, something occurred to her. She glanced around, saw the abandoned Pizza Rolls, and grabbed them too.

"Sorry, I have to leave for work now- but there's about $40 in my room and, well, just take what you need! I'll bring you a change of clothes when I get home, ok?" She told him all of this very fast, shoving the plate and the mug into his hands as quickly as was physically possible.

"Bye! I'll see you later!" Frisk slammed the door behind her and ran full tilt to the Hotlands, barely registering just how stupid a mistake she could have just made.


	9. Investigation

**Eyy, folks. I got a new chapter up. This one's a doozy that I had a great time writing. (Please comment, I'm a comment hog.)**

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Sans told Papyrus he was sick on Friday.

Nothing could really be further from the truth; he was no more sick than he usually was. Today should have been and would have been a completely normal day... if not for that note.

" _You are being followed._ "

Frisk, his brother's best friend, had been carrying the note for goodness knows how long... which meant she'd been _followed_ for goodness knows how long. No wonder she'd acted so scared yesterday. She was being followed by _one_ , possibly _two_ complete psychos. One of whom had unnervingly familiar handwriting.

He sat, sunk deep in the couch cushions and stared at that damn note. The first thing he needed to know was who wrote it. How to find that out was beyond him. Ideally, he would do something that would force the writer of the note to reveal himself, but in order to do that, he would need to know what the motivation of said note writer was.

Did the note writer actually want to warn Frisk about a stalker? Was it just a prank on her? Was the note writer, himself, the person following Frisk? Something didn't seem right about that one. Why would any self-respecting stalker tell the person he was stalking what he was doing?

Sans hummed thoughtfully, wishing vaguely that he had a bottle of ketchup to sip on. Maybe he was overreacting. He didn't really know why she would have that note, but... maybe it was just _her_ business. If he really went with that solution, then he really should have just gone to work today.

He groaned and flopped down completely on the couch. That solution sounded pretty good to him right about then. After all, why should he care if someone was following Frisk? Why should he care about her at all? It wasn't like she'd really done anything special. If anything, the only thing special about her was that she looked almost exactly like the insane, mass murderer who had almost killed his brother. Sans shouldn't care about her at all.

She wasn't even _his_ friend. Why should he break his back trying to find her stalker, when her stalker may not even _exist_? Yeah, she probably didn't even have a stalker. It was just a trick. She was just playing a trick on him. A really elaborate, convoluted prank to get him to freak out... Sans knew it was bullshit even as he thought it.

He sat up and pushed himself off the couch, shoving the note in his pocket as he made his way to the kitchen for a notepad and a pen. Whatever he thought about the girl, he couldn't just leave her out, alone and defenseless, in the metaphorical cold. She was his brother's best friend, after all. If anything happened to her, Papyrus would be devastated- and Papyrus had lost enough friends for several lifetimes.

Sans went back to the couch and divided the paper into two sections: _What do I know_ and _What do I need to know?_

On the "I know" side, he put down Frisk's name, home address, and the existence of the note. On the "Need to know" side, he put that he needed to know if Frisk had a stalker, and if so, how many. He needed to know who wrote the note, and whatever information that person knew. He needed to know if any potential stalker of hers meant her harm. Above all, he needed to know what he should do to get rid of any and all stalkers.

If the worst came to the worst, he could use what was in his basement.

The very thought made him want to vomit, but... if things were as bad as he thought they might be, he was going to need the stuff in there.

Sans glared down at his list of things he needed to know and tried to form a plan. What did he need to know first? He put a hand to his chin thoughtfully, then put the number "1" next to " _who is the note writer_ ", a "2" next to " _who is following Frisk_ " a "3" next to " _are the stalkers dangerous_ ", and a "4" next to " _what should I do about it_ ".

Now, he could really get started.

Sans flipped to the next page and scrawled the words " _safety net_ " in the top margin. On the chance that Frisk did have stalkers and at least one of them was dangerous, he needed a system of keeping track of her. The easiest way of doing that would just be to ask her to take an escort with her wherever she went. He'd make up an excuse to ask her to do that later. Maybe he could even arrange escorts (such as himself) without her notice...

Still, she probably wouldn't always be able to get a willing escort, and Sans wasn't always going to be available, so he needed another way of always knowing where she was. He thought for a moment... then an idea came to him. Grillby.

She was at GRILLBY'S almost as often as he was, and the owner still owed him a favor. Sans immediately shot looks all around him, saw his phone, and picked it up. He fumbled with the buttons and touch screen until he found the name he was looking for. Barbequekitten.

Sans still couldn't remember why he put that in as Grillby's contact name.

He tapped the name and put the phone up to his ear. He heard the distinctive buzz of his phone trying to reach someone...

...

...

but nobody picked up. Sans tried again. This time, someone picked up on the second ring.

"Sans, stop bothering me at work," came a deep, calm voice, tinny over the phone.

"Eyyy, Grillbz. How're you doin'?" said Sans, grinning as he spoke.

"No, Sans."

"No, what? I haven't asked for anything yet-"

"I'm not bringing food to your house. Stop asking, please. I've got to get back to work-"

"Nononono, Grillby! C'mon. I wasn't going to ask _that_. Especially after _last time_ , remember?"

There was no reply, but he could swear he hear Grillby's facial expression darken with irritation. Grillby sighed.

"What do you want, Sans? You should be at work."

"Meh, I decided to take a day off. That's beside the point. I actually needed to ask you a favor."

There was silence. Sans took that as a "go ahead".

"I need you to keep an eye on Frisk," said Sans. Once more, there was silence. It occurred to him that he probably should have gone to see the barkeep face-to-face. (Most of Grillby's communication with the outside world consisted of minuscule changes in his facial expression that few could read; Sans prided himself in being one of the few that could _almost_ understand the mysterious barkeep.)

Finally, the voice over the phone spoke up. "Why?"

Sans let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. Grillby hadn't rejected his request straight away.

"Something's going on with her. I don't know what it is right now, but it looks big." Sans waited for a second, giving Grillby time to say something. At last, Grillby responded.

"How big?"

" _ **Big,**_ " said Sans.

Silence.

"And... you need someone to keep an eye on her when you can't. Did I get that right?"

"Yep. That's about it. You don't have to do much. Just shoot me a text when she comes in,make sure she doesn't leave with anyone you don't know- that sort of thing."

"Alright."

The abruptness of the answer startled Sans.

"You mean you're gonna do it?" asked Sans.

"Yes. Text me with any details you might have later. I'm hanging up now."

"Thanks, Grillbz. You're the best-" *Click*

Grillby was gone.

Sans put the phone down. Had he been a prouder man, he would have given himself a pat on the back and bought himself something nice. As it was, he just smiled and made a note on the page marked, " _safety net_ ".

He could probably ask Mettaton to do the same as Grillby, and Frisk would be all set as far as protection went.

Sans made a note to call Mettaton tomorrow, then flipped the page. This one he labeled " _who wrote the note: Plan_ ".

The first step to finding this out was obvious. He needed to know if there were any more notes, and, if so, what the notes said. Maybe this note had been the latest of a series. With any luck, Frisk had been receiving notes from the same person for a long while. With a lot of luck, the note-writer was benevolent.

Sans scrawled the first step on the paper and twirled the pen in his hand, wondering if he could go any further as far as planning went. When he at last decided that no, he could _not_ go any further, he pushed himself off the couch and made his way for the door, putting on his jacket and shoving the notepad and pencil in the pocket.

Frisk had been at work at least 3 hours, if he guessed right. (She hadn't missed a day of work since she started working at the Hotlands, and Sans had no reason to think she'd start today.) Her house would be empty when he got there. Perfect for a little quiet investigation.

A gust of icy wind greeted him as he walked out into the streets of Snowdin, but he didn't mind. His brain was too occupied with trying to remember where exactly Frisk's apartment was. He'd been there a few times, but only when Papyrus had, and Sans hadn't exactly memorized the address.

Snow crunched under his feet and wind blew and tore at his hair, making it hard for him to concentrate. Still, he thought he was going in the right direction, and that was a start. He pulled his jacket over his mouth and nose and set off in the general direction of Frisk's apartment.

Lamp posts shown down their sickly, yellow light in the usual way, and with all the distractions, he almost missed something very, very important. He froze right next to one of the lamp posts and stared at the piece of paper taped to it.

It had a phone number on it, along with the word MISSING, typed in bright red, boldface Arial and a picture of a girl. It was the sort of poster he would see everywhere: at the grocery store, on the street, hell, just about anywhere with people. Every poster was the same. Sad, but not really any of his business.

This one was different.

The girl on the poster was Frisk.


	10. Mettaton

**Hey! New Chapter of Trouble, up! (I have to say, this chapter gave me a lot of pain to write. It's honestly ridiculous how difficult Mettaton is to write. Ah well, I hope you enjoy! Thanks to anyone reading this. Please comment if you get the chance!)**

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The moment Frisk threw open the double doors of the Hotlands, she ran face first into a brick wall.

"Frisk, why were you late?" said the wall. The wall was Mettaton. Frisk leaped back from him and started blubbering.

"Mettaton! I'm-so-sorry-I-was-late-I-just-tripped-over-this-creepy-old-wet-guy-outside-my-door-and-I-think-I-hurt-him-so-I-just-had-to-take-care-of-him-for-a-second-and-he-just-looked-so-sad-you-should-have-seen-him-but-after-I-let-him-into-my-house-I-realized-I-was-late-and-got-here-as-fast-as-I-could-so-please-don't-fire-me-I-swear-I'll-do-better- and-mmf!"

He clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Shhhhhh," he said. "Calm down, Frisk, precious. It's alright, darling, it's alright! Calm down.. I'm not going to fire you." He bent down so they were at eye level with each other, and she noticed something. Mettaton's hair, which was normally draped artfully over his left eye, was pulled back.

It revealed... well, she didn't know what exactly that was, but it certainly wasn't an eye.

"Are you calm now? Can I take my hand away?"

She nodded. He removed his hand from her mouth, giving her just the space to see the rest of him, and she was shocked to see that he looked... well... masculine. Normally when she saw him, he was wearing ornate, lovely dresses and elegant shoes with the occasional fur pelt about the shoulders, but now? Now he was wearing a white dress shirt, dark blazer and slacks, and he looked... well, almost like a normal, good-looking man.

"Good," said Mettaton said. "Actually, there was something I wanted to tell you. I'm sorry if I frightened you with my asking why you were late, I was just worried! Actually..."

He crossed his arms and looked her up and down. She couldn't help but notice how his _not-_ eye didn't move with his actual eye. He frowned.

"Actually... what?" said Frisk, thinking he may have trailed off on accident. His eye flicked back to her face and he smiled cheerily.

"Oh, yes! _Actually_ , I was going to give you the day off..."

"Really?" she asked, feeling like a schoolgirl who'd just been told she showed up to school on a weekend.

"...sort of," he continued. Her face fell.

"Sort of?"

"Well, of course! You see, I know how hard you work, darling, and I know you deserve a break; but I can't just _give_ you a day off. Understand?"

"No, I'm afraid I don't. If you wanted to give me a day off, then why don't you?" She quirked her eyebrow inquisitively. He crossed his arms and shook his head, as though she was missing something completely obvious.

"Because I can't, darling. Besides, I've been wanting to talk to you for a while now, and that's all I mean by 'sort of' a day off. Just spend two hours with me and I swear, I'll let you have the rest of the day to yourself."

She looked at him, hoping for more of an explanation. When she saw one wasn't coming, she said, "Why?"

"Because it's been too long since we've had a good chat, darling!" he said. "Besides, I think I _might_ have some apologizing and/or explaining to do," he added, somewhat bashfully.

"What do you have to explain, Mettaton?"

He looked uncomfortable for a moment. "Things," he responded, finally. "Look, I got all dressed up just for you, the least you could do is humor me! Just two hours is all I ask. Ok?"

Frisk was skeptical. Her past dealings with Mettaton had taught her not to swallow whole every word he said. The first time she'd trusted him completely, she'd been roped into working at a bar in a strip club. The second time, she'd almost been killed by a crazy man with a gun. (She still wondered where that guy had gone. He said something about being her "new best friend" the last time she'd seen him, which made her think she'd be seeing him again. Yet, he hadn't appeared again since that night.)

Mettaton grabbed her hand and squeezed it gently.

"Come on, Frisk, dear. It'll be fun, I swear. I'll give you tomorrow off too," he told her, smiling sweetly. The effect was diminished slightly by his _not_ -eye.

"What exactly do you want, Sir?" said Frisk, coldly. She didn't want to be mean, but at this point, it was either be a little mean or get a lot hurt; and she was _determined_ not to get hurt if she could help it.

"Well, that's a little rude, wasn't it sweetheart?" His voice held a little edge to it this time. She stood firm.

"Any time you want me to do something for you, I always end up caught off guard and doing something that could get me hurt. I don't want to be rude, I just need to know what you really want me to do before I'm forced into it. You know? Sorry if I offended you, but..." She trailed off, losing her nerve. She avoided his eye, but could feel him staring at her. "Can I please just get back to work now?"

"If I tell you the other reasons I want you to come with me for a few hours, will you do it?" he responded immediately. She thought for a moment.

"Maybe," she said at last.

"Okay," he said, sounding a little dejected. "Well the first reason is that, well, I felt bad about... you know... putting you in that little situation with Flowey and I... I wanted to make it up to you."

Part of Frisk felt a surge of guilt for doubting Mettaton's motives. Was it really necessary to have been that rude? He was her boss, after all, and he'd been kind enough to take her in when no one else would, (at the expense of her pride, true, but her pride was expendable if it meant she could _live_.)

Another part of Frisk wondered why Mettaton had waited this long. The incident with Flowey happened a while ago, so why hadn't Mettaton even mentioned the event until now?

"My other reason," Mettaton continued, "is not as noble. It's, er, rather embarrassing, actually."

This had to be the first time she had ever seen Mettaton act so sheepish in front of anyone, much less a girl half his size and with not the temperament to harm him.

"Well," he paused, apparently debating on something. The thoughtful expression soon vanished. A decision had been made. "If you must know, Frisk, darling, I need someone to go with me to a certain restaurant. You see, precious, there are some people there that I really need to impress. I told them I had a sweet, young... err... _female_ friend, and they didn't believe me due to my, erm, _usual_ appearance. So I thought to myself, 'do I know any sweet, young females?' and of course, you were the first person that popped into my head. I know this is an imposition on my part, darling, but I don't want to deal with their incessant mockery anymore."

Mettaton looked at her sheepishly and a little guiltily. She felt a twinge in her chest. So that was his real motive.

"Well, if you really need someone to go with you, then I don't mind. Just tell me the real reason you want me to do whatever it is you want me to do, and I probably won't say no. Okay?"

"Both of those were the real reason," he refuted with a wave of his hand. "Anyway, so you're coming with me, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well then," he said, immediately snatching her hand in his and giving it a little kiss. "Let's go and have the time of our lives, alright, Precious?"

"Sure," she said, smiling widely. He grinned back, then immediately squeezed her hand and lead her out of the club. She followed him without question, out the door, past Papyrus (who had outside duty that day) and into the passenger seat of of a silver car. The seats were made out of some sort of pink leather, and the entire interior smelled, for lack of a better word, like Mettaton.

It was absolutely freezing in the car, but she supposed she should be used to that by now. She lived in Snowdin, after all. Mettaton climbed in the driver's side and started the engine at a leisurely pace.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

"Yeah, just a little. I'll get used to it though."

Mettaton snickered. "You don't need to be self-sacrificing now, dearie. I find it a bit too chilly myself."

He flicked a few buttons on the dashboard and warmth immediately began flooding in. Secretly, she reveled in it.

"Now, it takes a little while to get to that place I was telling you about. That's alright with you, right?"

"Of course," she said, silently thinking Mettaton was being a tad _too_ careful with her. He didn't actually have to ask her about everything, but she supposed it was better than him not asking her about anything.

The car started moving, and to her surprise, everything went awkwardly silent. She stared forward, watching the different buildings and people they passed by. It was strange. She was so used to seeing the streets of Snowdin from the ground, that seeing them from inside a car made her feel like an outsider. Like she was watching a movie about a place she'd seen before.

She glanced over at Mettaton, who looked completely normal... right up until she looked at his hands. They were gripped so hard on the steering wheel, the knuckles were white.

"Mettaton?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Is everything okay? Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Why do you ask, sweetheart?"

"Your knuckles are turning white."

Mettaton immediately relaxed his hands. "Really? They don't look white to me, precious; in any sense. See?"

He held his hand out for her to inspect.

"Well, they aren't now, but they were before! Seriously, if you're that nervous about going to that restaurant you were talking about, we could just skip it and go to GRILLBY'S instead."

Mettaton made a face. "Ugh."

"What?" she asked.

"No offense to your taste, darling, but that is honestly the most revolting eating establishment in all of Snowdin. And to top it all off, the food there is just so... _greasy_. It's no good for you."

"Whaaat?" she said in a playfully insulted tone. "How could you say that about my favorite restaurant? I'm offended, honestly."

Mettaton smiled. "It's disgusting, and really, how could I keep up my fantastic figure if I went around and ate at every mediocre burger joint I came across?"

"You sound like Papyrus."

"Well, that's not so bad a thing, is it? You like him."

"Yeah, I like him. So, what kind of restaurant are we going to, anyway? If it's a burger joint, I'm not going to let you live it down."

"It's not a burger place, trust me," he said with a mock sigh. She smiled a little herself. He seemed much less nervous now.

There was silence for a long while. Buildings passed that she hadn't seen since she took the bus ride to Snowdin. Were they leaving town to go to this place of his? Her heart felt like it was going to jump out of her chest. He hadn't found out who she really was, had he? Was he taking her back to her hometown?

No, she told herself. There was no way he'd found out. For him to have found out, he would have had to get some sort of word from her hometown that she was missing. That was impossible. For anyone in her hometown to have sent word to Snowdin about her disappearance, someone would have had to care.

She was just being paranoid.

"Frisk?" asked Mettaton.

"Yeah?"

"I have a question for you."

"What is it?"

"...Do you think that even the worst person can change...? That everyone can be a good person, if they just try?"

"You're not a bad person, Mettaton. You're actually pretty nice-"

"Just answer me, please?"

Frisk thought about her answer for a moment, trying to be tactful. Even if Mettaton wasn't always the best friend he could be to her, he was still the reason she was even still alive. She wanted to help him. She was determined to help him in any way she could.

"Of course I do. What you do now may not erase the sins of the past, or make it so you don't have to pay for them, but... well..." The car took a turn, and suddenly, they were in an area she didn't recognize. They weren't going out of town at least.

"Well," she tried to think of the right words. "At least you're doing something."

Mettaton was silent for a while, then, out of nowhere, he laughed. It didn't sound normal. If anything, it sounded robotic and hollow and horrible.

"That's not the right answer," he told her.

"Is this a quiz show? I thought this was an opinion you were asking for. What would the right answer be anyway?"

"It doesn't really matter, Precious. We're almost there."

"Oh? Really? You still haven't told me what kind of place it is. Now that I think about it, I'm not so sure I should show up here in my work clothes. What do you think?"

"Oh, don't worry about that. He's going to love you."

"He?" she asked, warily.

"The person I'm trying to impress, darling."

"Oh."

They pulled up next to a nice looking building, lit on the outside with lovely white lights. It had no windows but the door, which was made of some sort of an opaque, glass material. It looked absolutely beautiful in the snow.

"Um, this place looks nice," Frisk commented. Mettaton was silent on the matter.

Frisk got out of the car first, then waited for Mettaton at the entrance. He was about to reach for the handle of the door when she stopped him.

"Hey, shouldn't we hold hands or something like that? You are trying to convince this guy that you have a, erm, female friend, right?" She held out her hand, which he took and gave a light squeeze.

"I'm sorry, Precious," he said. He opened the door.

"What do you mean-"

Someone else interrupted her.

"Well, howdy! If it isn't Frisk, my one and only best friend! It sure is great to see you, as healthy and adorable as ever. Come on, give your ol' pal, Flowey, a hug."


End file.
